#not symbolically or anything - it just made my depression worse | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

enrapture · 9 months

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Before anything is misread because I know you’ll see this. No, this has NOTHING to do with the shirt. This is much much bigger than that and I’ve discussed this with you time and time again. (The person knows who without stating names for personal reasons.) and before you make assumptions or insinuate things, no I’m not talking shit about you with anyone. I hold no hatred. I’m more hurt than anything else. But no I have no reason to talk shit about you. Not like it matters to you at all… but that’s just so you know. This is speaking broadly here.

I give up. You’ve shown me your true colors. Mistreated me. Basically symbolically spit in my face and tore my heart to shreds. Kicked my kindness to the ground and abused my good nature. Toyed with my emotions and kept me handing on a string. You never deserved me. And only kept me around when you saw fit. You never once cared about my feelings or thoughts. You only cared about yourself and your own benefit. As many times as I discussed with you and how you made me feel. As many times as I cried and felt the heartbreak and the pain the anger the frustration and the confusion…. I gave you 5 chances. You said you’d change. You ghosted me every fucking time. I still wanted to see it through. I OPENED UP TO YOU. I was vulnerable with you. And all in the fucking world that I wanted was just your quality time. I DIDNT WANT ANYTHING ELSE. I just wanted us hanging out or talking. THE MINIMALEST OF EFFORT. all I wanted was a friend. And all you gave me was pain and broken promises. You’re no better than my dad. Than my own blood relatives…… I treated you well as if you were a family member despite the fire grip you shook me with. I NEVER wanted perfection. I NEVER expected it. I understood that mistakes happen. I understood growth and what that takes which is why I gave you so many fucking STUPID ASS chances. And you never changed. YOU HURT ME EVERY FUCKING GODDAMN TIME. I give up. I GIVE, I FOLD. It’s pointless. I didn’t deserve any of the mistreatment you gave me. ITS NOT HARD TO BE A GOOD PERSON AND TO TREAT SOMEONE WELL. ITS LITERAL BUILDING BLOCKS TO ANY RELATIONSHIP/FRIENDSHIP. I believed your lies and saw through them because I figured maybe he didn’t mean it. It’s just a mistake, they happen he’s learning he’s growing but I was the fool there. I disregarded my friendships / everyone around me who told me to not take you back in my life. To not believe you to block you to leave you alone…Because I thought through mistakes there’s growth but there was absolute 0. No apology will fucking fix this. You ruined and severed any bridge that was built between us. You ruined me in a way as a person. You ruined my trust of people. You made my anxiety(panic disorder) & depression worse….how the fuck do you think any of this is okay? Remotely justified? You’re fucked.

We slept together for the first time and although it didn’t at all go as planned you treated me like i was someone you tolerated…. You acted like you didn’t even wanna be around me…. It’s fucked up. I never expected all your time, I never wanted all of it all the time. But i actually enjoyed your company WHEN IT WAS GOOD, which was very little because it seemed like you didn't want me around unless for one thing only which was your benefit if you hadnt ghosted me over and over and over...REAL FRIENDS HANG OUT WITH EACH OTHER.... But REAL FRIENDS DONT TREAT THEIR FRIENDS LIKE THE WAY YOU DID ME. REAL FRIENDS don’t make their friends cry repeatedly. REAL FRIENDS don’t LIE. Real friends don’t constantly in a way abuse their fucking friends. REAL FRIENDS are open, honest, understanding, reliable, caring, supportive, communicate their feelings and their needs, value quality time over anything else… etc. Real friends VALUE AND RESPECT YOU. like everything I did for you. You just treated me like fucking trash. Like a cigarette you’re ready to smoke and then put out and then smoke again when you’re feeling the urge. i LIKED you.... You told me how I'm one of the few people you actually enjoyed talking with / looked forward to hearing from.... what the fuck dude.

I’m more than that. I’m more than just someone you can use and throw the fuck away. I’m more than just an object. I’m more than just oh let me text her once and then go a few months without talking at all just to do it again. I’m more than that. So much more. I tried so hard to see it through to see it all through and it’s exhausting it’s upsetting…. It’s heartbreaking to feel like this. To know I never meant a fucking thing. To know that I thought about you but you never thought about me. To know that we were never friends in the first place…. That everything was once sided on my end… and you would once in a blue moon put in a tiny tiny crumb worth of work… it’s not cool. It’s not fair. It’s majorly messed up. And I’m done. I’m crying rn. But I’m Done. I can’t do it anymore. You fucked up. And it’s irreparable this time. I always spoke well of you. I never meant any harm or issues of any kind. You brought this upon yourself. You can go ahead and talk shit about me. I could care less. But you and I both know that I was good to you. And meant well with every fiber of my soul.

Thank you for showing me your true colors. It really opened my eyes on my worth and what I deserve. You’ve taught me what I don’t want in my life anymore and the ways that I want to be treated. You’ve hurt me, caused me great pain and I’m sure this is all hilarious to you. I’m sure you think I’m crazy… that’s fine, you only ever saw things from your perspective and never ever once saw things from mine. Never considered my thoughts or feelings at all…. I hope one day you can gain a sense of empathy. My heart hurts. And the pain will last for a while. It’s what I get for trying to make things work and see them through but it was all lies you shoved down my throat. “I actually had feelings for you…..” you said to me…. “I wanna make it up to you.” should’ve known it was a fucking joke. I never wanted to rush into any sort of relationship with you…. I wanted to become good friends and become close…. Don’t ever get that twisted. I liked you more than a friend at one point but you fucked what we had. you ruined it all. You’re a horrible human being. I bet it really feels good to toy with someone’s emotions like that. How fucked up are you actually? Because to mess with someone’s emotions the way you did mine IS MAJOR. That’s what a bully does…… a fuckboy? Absolutely since you got all you needed from me and ghosted me time and time again. One sided relationship/friendship. It’s disgusting. You’re revolting. You disgust me. you never meant anything that you said. You never cared. It was a mistake on my end letting you back in but looking back I was always good to you and never did you wrong or ghosted you or even remotely treated you badly in the ways that you treated me… Thank you for causing it. Actually, thank you for all of it. No one would’ve done for you what I did. And that shows that our souls really are different. That shows more of my character than it does yours. But good luck with that. I never would’ve done what you did to me to even my worst enemy. How could you?

I tried so hard to understand you. To be there for you when you were down. To be a friend to you. To love you unconditionally. To be there despite it all. To accept all that you are. To grow with you. To be a genuine friend in your life. To despite the circumstances and the pain inbetween I tried to be a light in your life but all you gave me was pain / complications and used me and manipulated me and gaslit me and just fucked me over. Treated me like a deck of cards as if we’re playing a game. I lose every time. No draw. I never wanted to win. I never wanted anything more than simplicity. I wanted a friend. I thought that we had that. I fucking thought we WERE FRIENDS. I thought that we were gaining a bond a connection if you will- that people who were close had. Give or take time is the real winner there. But the bigger picture clearly shows everything I needed to see. and I’ve never seen clearer waters like the one that you are. It sucks. The bitter taste you hold in my mouth makes me sick. My heart is crushed and my feelings are hurt horribly. and I just… I’ve seen it all along but refused to believe it out of the acts of change/what it means to grow and make mistakes. and to think for a fucking split second I had hope that you were genuine, had fucking hope that you would grow, change, become better and treat me with respect....that maybe your words MEANT something and that there would be actions followed right behind them..... I was DEAD fucking wrong. I can't BELIEVE I DOUBTED YOU. My gut was always right. The mistake all along was just you. :(

you fucked me up. you robbed me of my good heart. you betrayed me. you spoon fed me lies. Feelings you claimed you had? ALL THE SHIT YOU SAID IN FEBUARY. all the shit you said over text.... YOU PLAYED ME. I'm just a game to you? all i ever was was fucking game... are you kidding me? you're a fucking liar. an ASSHOLE. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?

It is what it is. Sayonara.

#you’re the worst of them all #it’s your loss not mine

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iris-drawing-stuff · 11 months

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A couple of thoughts I had about “I Love You”

So the amount of cake he feeds her is clearly less than how much she feeds him. I think the cake may represent affection and love, but specifically a love where they don’t acknowledge their problems. It’s just a substanceless sugar sweet that doesn’t do anything but make you happy in the short term without addressing the core of the issue. He feeds her a small amount when she is upset on the couch. Their relationship was really unbalanced where she was overwhelmingly loving. Look at that cake, how can he fit all that in his mouth without difficulty?

I think they both had issues prior to the relationship, with the BF possibly dealing with depression. I’ve also seen the theory that he was financially dependent on her because of the line "Clothes Food Shelter + Love and Miss you" and if that’s true, then that’s fucked.

Mahiru didn’t really know how to help him, so she just did what he did to her when she was upset. After all, it cheered her up, so she should give back to him with double the cake (love). Obviously, it didn’t help him at all, and the overwhelming and suffocating nature of her love made things worse.

Mahiru’s attitude towards what Kotoko did shows that she thinks people should do what they believe is right no matter what. She may have had this same attitude toward her boyfriend's suicidal feelings too. Which is... so fucked up if true. It would also support the theory of her intending to commit a lover’s suicide. I’m not sure if I fully buy that theory, but it’s interesting.

With hindsight, Mahiru knows that she was wrong deep down. That’s why it switches back to reality. The cake is a rat. Dead rats can symbolize many things, including betrayal and a lack of adaptability. Not everything can be solved with just love, but that’s all she offered. BF needed actual help. The lyrics also indicate this.

Saying I love you but doing what I did,

I know I have no right, crossed and covered in sin

My love, it scored an own goal, destroyed my love and me with its weight

Tell me, oh tell me why, can’t I just do it right

This does contradict her VD, where Mahiru says she hasn’t done anything wrong, but I think it’s because she equates her love = life. If her way of loving was wrong, then everything about her and her life is wrong. It seems like a coping mechanism, the only way she can justify staying alive.

Also she is does verbally doubt whether her relationship was good or not as well. She “thinks” they were normally going out. Perhaps she just needs more time to process.

It’s taken her this long to even admit that he’s dead. Her reluctance to fully verbalize her responsibility reminds me of Fuuta. Neither want to fully admit responsibility, but they know they were wrong.

That’s my thoughts for now. Also, does anyone know why he was wet at the start, but dry at the end? The only thing I could think of is that he might have been hanging there when it rained, but there’s no mention of rain. I couldn’t think of anything else.

#milgram #mahiru shiina #milgram thoughts #my thoughts are rotating around my head like a carousel #i'm not the best at analyzing things so if anyone has any ideas id love to hear them #i tend to be quite indecisive about of interpretations of things

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vivithefolle · 2 years

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Hi,

I was reading one of the metas about Dumbledore saying in The King's Cross chapters that he relied on Hermione to slow Harry down regarding the Deathly Hallows, and I can't help but agree that Ron was missing in the line. It should have been relied on Hermione and Ron to slow Harry down, because I have a feeling that Hermione can't fully rein Harry in, and she would need Ron's help to do so. I would like your thoughts on this.

OH MAH GAWD AS USUAL I HAVE OPINIONS ON THIS.

Honestly the whole "oh Harry you brave brave man" was already pretty annoying to me who is completely frigid to Harry's character but okay, why not, he's the hero and protagonist, we absolutely need him to be flooded in compliments so we know what to praise him for.

But then.

Of course JKR couldn't resist having her actual author's mouthpiece compliment her literal self-insert. When you realize this is JKR throwing herself flowers you just... lose any appreciation for that scene.

Dumbledore patted Harry’s hand, and Harry looked up at the old man and smiled; he could not help himself. How could he remain angry with Dumbledore now? ‘Why did you have to make it so difficult?’ Dumbledore’s smile was tremulous. ‘I am afraid I counted on Miss Granger to slow you up, Harry. I was afraid that your hot head might dominate your good heart. I was scared that, if presented outright with the facts about those tempting objects, you might seize the Hallows as I did, at the wrong time, for the wrong reasons. If you laid hands on them, I wanted you to possess them safely. You are the true master of death, because the true master does not seek to run away from Death. He accepts that he must die, and understands that there are far, far worse things in the living world than dying.’ - Deathly Hallows

(also notice how Rowling makes such a big deal about how there are things so much worse than death, but she's ok with Harry torturing someone while going through ridiculous loops to ensure Harry never has to actually kill Voldemort. Because killing a murderous maniac in self-defense is worse than literal torture according to Rowling. Thanks for this lesson in morality... I guess???)

Ok, so Hermione was supposed to slow Harry down, ok why not...

...

Except... that's absolutely not what happened.

Remember what happened instead?

‘Dumbledore usually let me find out stuff for myself. He let me try my strength, take risks. This feels like the kind of thing he’d do.’ ‘Harry, this isn’t a game, this isn’t practice! This is the real thing, and Dumbledore left you very clear instructions: find and destroy the Horcruxes! That symbol doesn’t mean anything, forget the Deathly Hallows, we can’t afford to get sidetracked –’ Harry was barely listening to her. He was turning the Snitch over and over in his hands, half expecting it to break open, to reveal the Resurrection Stone, to prove to Hermione that he was right, that the Deathly Hallows were real. [...] They packed up the tent next morning and moved on through a dreary shower of rain. The downpour pursued them to the coast, where they pitched the tent that night, and persisted through the whole week, through sodden landscapes which Harry found bleak and depressing. He could think only of the Deathly Hallows. It was as though a flame had been lit inside him that nothing, not Hermione’s flat disbelief nor Ron’s persistent doubts, could extinguish. And yet the fiercer the longing for the Hallows burned inside him, the less joyful it made him. He blamed Ron and Hermione: their determined indifference was as bad as the relentless rain for dampening his spirits, but neither could erode his certainty, which remained absolute. Harry’s belief in and longing for the Hallows consumed him so much that he felt quite isolated from the other two and their obsession with the Horcruxes. [...] As the weeks crept on, Harry could not help but notice, even through his new self-absorption, that Ron seemed to be taking charge. Perhaps because he was determined to make up for having walked out on them: perhaps because Harry’s descent into listlessness galvanised his dormant leadership qualities, Ron was the one now encouraging and exhorting the other two into action. [...] But not until March did luck favour Ron at last. Harry was sitting in the tent entrance, on guard duty, staring idly at a clump of grape hyacinths that had forced their way through the chilly ground, when Ron shouted excitedly from inside the tent. [...] Harry could feel Ron shaking. [...] ‘HERMIONE!’ Ron bellowed, and he started to writhe and struggle against the ropes tying them together, so that Harry staggered. ‘HERMIONE!’ [...] ‘Dobby, no, don’t die, don’t die –’ The elf’s eyes found him, and his lips trembled with the effort to form words. ‘Harry … Potter …’ And then with a little shudder the elf became quite still, and his eyes were nothing more than great, glassy orbs sprinkled with light from the stars they could not see. [...] ‘I want to do it properly,’ were the first words which Harry was fully conscious of speaking. ‘Not by magic. Have you got a spade?’ And shortly afterwards he had set to work, alone, digging the grave in the place that Bill had shown him at the end of the garden, between bushes. He dug with a kind of fury, relishing the manual work, glorying in the non-magic of it, for every drop of his sweat and every blister felt like a gift to the elf who had saved their lives. [...] The steady rhythm of his arms beat time with his thoughts. Hallows… Horcruxes… Hallows… Horcruxes… yet he no longer burned with that weird, obsessive longing. Loss and fear had snuffed it out: he felt as though he had been slapped awake again. - Deathly Hallows

Yeah... it wasn't Hermione's saintly good heart and patience that got Harry to stop being an idiot. It was Dobby.

More specifically, Dobby dying.

If every time I was obsessed with something it took someone dying to snap out of it I'd have the police on my ass.

But, of course - we ABSOLUTELY had to wedge one compliment to Hermione in Dumbledore's last appearance. I mean, poor Hermione, that's a whole chapter without her being told she's clever/smart/astute, can you imagine? Our readers could forget she's supposed to be smart if they're not constantly being beaten over the head with it!!

#vivi answers #harry potter #hermione granger #ron weasley #albus dumbledore #dobby #dobby is a free elf #jkr critical #harry potter critical

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transfemlogan · 1 year

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Instagram Feb 2023. More of my sides stuff from IG that I 4got 2 post :P

I have no spoons to copy everything word for word so I will just simplify it all.

Colour schemes:

I didnt originally plan to make them colours of the rainbow like how the Sanders Sides +c!Thomas are, that was a very recent idea.

I am orange, Maddox/Impulse is red, Memphis/Egotism is pink, Melvin/Compassion is green, Medusa/Creativity is cyan & I recently made Mercury/Paranoia yellow. Maven/Fatigue is probably going to be purple & I don't have another side to make indigo.

[Non-coloured text: I am orange, Maddox/Impulse is red, Memphis/Egotism is pink, Melvin/Compassion is green, Medusa/Creativity is cyan & I recently made Mercury/Paranoia yellow. Maven/Fatigue is probably going to be purple & I don't have another side to make indigo.]

Symbols/logos:

My sides' logos r all over the place, instead of being on their chest like (most of) the Sanders Sides :P

Melvin's logo is two hands interlocked & it's a patch on his battle jacket. Its place on his heart.

Madds' logo is like the boom emoji (💥) or explosion. It is placed on the sides of its big combat boots.

Medusa's logo is like. An eyeball. Painbrush. This will change idk what i was thinking originally NDHSKFNFB. Kits logo is placed on the front of kits overalls pocket.

Maven's logo is a bunch of Zs like a sleeping person would be given in art (💤). It's placed on the largest pin on their beanie.

Memphis' logo is a pink, handheld mirror. It is one of the charms on her phone.

Mercs does not... have a logo design. & the logo is either on the back of Mercs' shirt or on one of Mercs' bracelets.

Relationship dynamics:

All my sides get along relatively ok & good. If the Sanders Sides wont love each other then MINE WILL!!!

The only sides that have a somewhat rough relationship is Mel & Madds. Mel, being compassion, wants 2 hear everything 1st in any sort of conflict & tends 2 have a more unbiased view on everything. He is still incredibly supportive & kind regardless of his personal opinion. He is like... Making soup 4 everyone and wanting to help as many people as possible.

Madds, on the other hand, being impulse & a lot of my ""negative"" violent feelings, refuses 2 hear ANYONE out. It will hold a grudge til the end of the earth even if it doesnt know the whole story. As soon as some sort of conflict happens it is choosing the Worse answer imaginable regardless if it even fits the situation ("did that guy just bump into you? We have to kill them" "im sure it was an accident—" "it absolutely Was Not").

OBVIOUSLY. THEY DON'T AGREE MOST OF THE TIME DNSHDKDN. Mel is like "lets talk this out. Communication is important!" & madds is like "Everyone here is wrong except for me. Lets kill them all now."

(They still will bend over backwards for each other if needed)

Maven's trait is fatigue bcuz i have CFS/ME*, though they also represent any sort of fatigue(??) Im. Unsure how to explain. Back in middle schopl before I developed CFS/ME, it was a lot of suicidal/depressive fatigue. It can also be executive dysfunction or autistic shutdowns/meltdowns. ETC whatever u get it.

They're the like. Apathy I feel? I do not experience empathy or sympathy (most of the time) & being aro, ace, and apl, and loveless I tend to not feel Normally. I am also autistic & have alexithymia. THIS IS HARD 2 EXPLAIN BCUZ I AM LOW ON SPOONS. ASK ME LATER OF UR STILL CONFUSED. I DONT KNOW.

WHATEVER. Because Maven is fatigue/apathy/etc they don't really care abt any1 around them. That's melvin's job! They're too busy sleeping in their wheelchair or on the floor. They aren't mean or anything, they're just apathetic & sleepy.

Memphis only cares abt himself but bcuz all the sides + me r Technically Also Him he kind of has 2 care 4 evry1 else. Though, if warranted, she would literally push us off a cliff to save herself (she would also push us off a cliff 4 no rzn).

Medusa likes to cling to Memphis like a baby koala bcuz I think I am TOO talented for my own good . Hence why creativity hangs around egotism.

Mercs likes to run to Madds or Maven bcuz my delusions, obviously, make me violent & afraid & i am actually pretty apathetic & chill in regards to my hallucinations. ALSO NOT MENTIONED IN THE STORIES, Mercs also hangs around Memphis since I have delusions abt being the most popular person on the planet & being better than everyone else & ETC.

*ALL my sides have CFS/ME. They ALL are autistic, have ADHD, schizophrenia, POTS, & all my other disabilities & neurodivergencies. It doesn't make sense to me (+ makes me a little uncomfortable) to have a single side represent my disabilities/NDs. My disabilities are not One Part Of Me, they are All Of Me.

In regards to Mercury/Paranoia, all my sides experience delusions & hallucinations, Mercs just experiences Most of it. Xe also represents more than just paranoia. In regards to Maven/Fatigue, all my sides are physically disabled and have CFS/ME & POTS, Maven just experiences the most of it & represents more than just fatigue.

#revys sides!

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anothanobody · 1 year

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Mikasa-centered insert before their reunion

tw// depression

She knows they’re really worried for her health, both physical and mental as she idly sat at the edge of her bed. Eyes empty and void of emotions, staring blankly ahead at the space. She wants to cry, let out her emotions. But during those moments, it’s like there’s no more tears left to cry within her.

Her health is deteriorating and she knows it. Given by the reason that she doesn’t eat. Any foods prepared for her are ignored. Or if she managed to get tempted, only a bite or two was taken.

Her family and the Yeagers were getting awfully worried. She’s not the usual Mikasa anymore ever since her beloved died. All was left is an empty shell, it’s like her heart doesn’t know what to do during these days.

The locket, now ever so often is safely nestled on her collarbones, preserving the love that they always have for each other. A few moments later, she slowly rose from her seat then made her way towards the door of her room and twisted the doorknob.

Her parents and the Yeagers, hearing the rattling of her doorknob, immediately stood up. Their postures rigid and tense as they waited for her to come out. Not knowing that everything would’ve changed after the very moment she comes out of her room with a determined decision for herself. Hearing the doorknob clicked, they finally got a sight of Mikasa, pale and frail. Mrs. Ackerman and Carla couldn’t help but shed some tears at what they has witnessed. The poor girl looked so sickly and weak. Her mother couldn’t help herself but hug Mikasa and cry to her daughter’s shoulder, muttering “Thank God, you’ve finally come out”. Patting her mother’s back, words finally came out of her mouth “can you accompany me to the church? even for a short while? I’m just going to pray for a bit” Mikasa gently finishes and opened up her fist to reveal a rosary. Carla and Mrs. Ackerman looked at each other, face marred with hesitancy, then slowly nodded. They don’t want to further make Mikasa feel worse.

—————

Shoes clicking against the tiles of the holy place, Mikasa and her mom along with Carla quickly found a place to recline on. Black onyx hair covered with a long veil made with intricate lace weaving, pinned to her bun and her figure, hidden by a white dress. White is a symbol of modesty and purity. But to her, it symbolizes her and Eren’s souls and love for each other, entwined as one. And so, she kneeled on the hassock of the seat. “In nomine Patris et Filii” she breathlessly began, “et Spiritus Sancti” she ended it with a kiss on the rosary.

“Ave Maria, gratia plena,

Dominus tecum.

Benedicta tu in mulieribus” by then, tears had started to leak out of her tear ducts. Showing her misery and vulnerability to the holy place as she tries to find strength by confiding in his holy Mother.

“et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus” she continues on the verge of sobbing, she’s begging. Begging for the saints and his Holy Trinity to hear her. She just wants Eren to come back, it’s not that too much to ask, isn’t it?

“Sancta Maria, Mater Dei” by now, her tears cannot stop. Palms clutching so hard on the rosary as Carla shushes her while her Mother could only hold her cheek, both of them shedding their own tears. They hate how they couldn’t do anything to stop the pain.

“ora pro nobis peccatoribus,

nunc et in hora mortis nostrae.

Amen” she finally finished it then buried her face into her mother’s neck. Soaking her mom’s shirt with her tears.

Raising her head to look at Carla, she began “If I only knew that this is how it would’ve ended, I would never agreed to him in enlisting for the army. It’s all my fault” her voice cracked. “I should’ve stopped him, it’s all my fault Carla” as she held both of the woman’s hands “I should’ve discouraged him”.

“Shhh, shhh Darling. Please stop, it’s never your fault okay?” The woman said as she let her hands fall from Mikasa’s hold then gently caresses the younger woman’s cheek. “My son would’ve hated that you’re blaming yourself. All you did was be supportive of him, and he’s thankful of that” Carla said while wiping Mikasa’s tears. “So don’t ever blame yourself okay?”.

Now looking at her own Mother, she took a deep breath and started, “I’ve been thinking and I have finally decided, that I’m going to enter the nunnery. I’ll serve God himself while taking care of myself and maybe one day, I’m going to be okay. It’s a way for me to get close to Eren as well.” She despondently sigh while looking down. “At least, I can pray for his peace and safety as he travels through the afterlife” she ended it with a new mirth. A one her mother had not seen for so long.

“Are you sure?” Mrs. Ackerman looked so uncertain. Because she knows that it would bring a new chapter in their lives. The future is foggy, not knowing what was set upon them once her daughter enters the convent. “Yes mama, I’m certain” her ever so sweet daughter replied with a beam. “O-okay, if that’s what you want to make yourself content” the elder woman answered quite weakly.

Sorry if this sucks and took so long. I got busy 😭 and now going to plot how they would reunite

motherfucker here is making me look so useless as fuck 😭😭😭😭😭 but this is so good anon really. i love it. but let me ask you… do you guys say the prayer in latin? 💀 wtf

#nunkasa series au

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cloudbattrolls · 1 year

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Eat Your Young

Gallen | Suunaq Industrial Complex | Present Night

A sprawling industrial complex covered the plain, its buildings and roads nearly equaling the size of a small town.

It had stood there longer than some of the actual settlements in the surrounding area, growing piece by piece over several millennia. Power plants and offices jostled for space, interspersed with streets that had been paved and patched more times than anyone could count. Everything was kept in a state of high repair; the finest quality droids maintained the infrastructure, though there were no imperial drones to be seen.

Ever since its earliest nights, the complex had been filled white butterflies that did not seem to feed from or pollinate any flowers; not that there were many to be found in such a place. Any attempts to catch and study them ended in the insects dissolving to nothing, so trolls let them be.

Most didn’t have the time or energy to wonder about what little wildlife surrounded them to begin with.

For marked over each of the complex’s entrances, on the identification cards of all the trolls who worked in that place, was the jade symbol of QPIN - each and every troll there in the corporation-gang’s debt.

Debts paid - in part - by blood.

Debts paid to one of the Queenpin’s right-hand executives, Inshii Suunaq.

—

Three tall figures gathered under the glare of a street lamp, all coming from different directions.

A woman, hourglass-shaped with a band covering her eyes and a cowgirl hat on her head, dressed in a crop top and shorts. A man, broad and powerfully built, wearing only knee-length shorts and no shirt. A person dressed in a beautiful violet sherwani, the tallest of all, wide with soft roundness instead of the man’s dense bulk.

The woman spoke first as they faced each other on the sidewalk, the night air quiet around them.

“Damn, I hate this place.” Rhyssa complained, hands on her hips. “I can’t even see it proper and I still hate it. Would it kill ya to decorate a bit, Shii? The vibes are just awful.”

“I don’t have time for excessive frivolity.” Responded the false violet in a deadpan as they led the other two away. “Trolls can put up ornamentation if they like; I don’t forbid them. Excessive levels of depression are unproductive.”

Rhyssa groaned as she followed, her boots’ spurs jingling softly. “Sugar, you’ve been contributin’ to depression in trolls for a long time without tryin’. I love you, but ya are kind of a robot when it comes to fixin’ a place up.”

Gallen hung back a few steps as the three of them made their way down the sidewalk, letting the other two banter. He was grateful he couldn’t speak, and that he likely wouldn’t be asked to sign very much, or type; if his siblings picked up on his dread, everything was over.

Everything might still be over if he couldn’t carry out the plan Klirro and Tuuya had concocted for him. All his isopods wriggled anxiously in his skin, though he tried not to let it show.

Rhyssa hung back, head tilted, the wasps fluttering around her to serve as her eyes buzzing in concern.

“What’s eatin’ ya, Gal?”

Oops.

I don’t know how things are going to be from now on, he signed honestly.

I hope this makes mother better, but what if it makes her worse? What will we do? How can we care for her? For once, I wish we were more like trolls. Trolls know how to tend to their lusii and quadrants.

All we were ever meant to do was serve her.

We were never taught anything else. Unlike Lleios, we weren’t given the ability to learn much beyond what we were made to do.

I think she did that on purpose, he signed, suddenly angry as he had the thought, eyes narrowing, gestures sharper. I think she wanted to keep us dependent.

She let me learn about religion, she let me watch trolls come to my altar all those sweeps, but she knew I could never truly understand them.

Only Lleios could.

Gallen looked at Rhyssa, whose hand touched her mouth in shock at his words, and he saw that Inshii had stopped walking, looking back at the pair of them as their fins flicked.

The isopod swarm folded his broad arms, blue eyes hard. He wasn’t backing down.

Even if it weren’t for the mission, even if Klirro had never found him, even if he had wound up killing Tuuya after all - these doubts had brewed for centuries, and he was done ignoring his problems.

“Gal! What’s all this hullabaloo?” Rhyssa protested, her own hands flapping in distress as she buzzed with worry. “Where’d this come from all of a sudden, huh? You’ve never - never said a blessed thing - ”

“Now is not the time for such topics.” Cut in Inshii, hard enough that their sister’s hands dropped and her buzzing quieted. She folded her arms, sullenly silent, and Gallen stared the butterfly swarm down, their violet eyes hard.

“Gallen…we will discuss this later.” His oldest sibling’s tone held a practiced neutrality, one he knew was barely holding back anger. Their fins twitched almost imperceptibly, but he caught it.

“Mother needs us now, and she needs us united.”

As if they’d been properly united for sweeps. As if they’d really acted together since Lleios had died.

Killed by a troll, of all things. A troll they had loved. A troll who betrayed them…yet they had wanted him to, so they could die.

Gallen’s fists clenched at the way his youngest sibling had chosen to leave the rest of them behind. If they hadn’t done that, none of this would have happened.

The cold pavement cut his bare feet repeatedly, as it usually did. What did he care? He regenerated his skin nigh instantly, barely noticing as the three swarms drew closer to Inshii’s laboratory.

The thick glass doors slid open with a slight hiss as the false violet led the way in after flashing their ID to a scanner, barely making any sound despite their size. Gallen squinted as they walked into the harsh lighting and gray-white walls and floors, the smell of disinfectant prominent.

There were a few trolls to be seen, but most of Inshii’s staff here were highly specialized robots. The ones that were present shied away from the trio automatically. There wasn’t any fear on their faces or in their movements; they did it instinctively, knowing better than to be close.

“Can we at least eat before this?” Commented Rhyssa, slightly impatient. “I’m assumin’ those ain’t snacks, and I’m peckish.”

“Obviously those aren’t snacks.” Said Inshii in a slightly weary tone of voice. “Food doesn’t work in the laboratory. If you knew anything about science you’d understand just how intensive and time consuming this process has been to replicate. I’ve needed my finest staff on this and had to hire a few extras, which is not kind to my payroll.”

“Ooh, lemme play ya a song on m’banjo, saddest one in the history of the empire, Shishi.” Said Rhyssa, singsong and mocking, actually taking out her instrument as if she was about to start strumming.

Inshii rolled their eyes and ignored her, so Rhyssa pouted and put it away.

Gallen stopped and looked around, not in any hurry to get to what came next. He put his hands in his shorts’ pockets, feeling for the hundredth time that the vial of cloudy liquid was still there.

“Come on.” Called Inshii impatiently. “You’d think we were dragging you to an atheist convention.”

He opened his mouth to huff silently, not wanting to let himself feel amused, and kept walking.

He couldn’t. He had to…he had to…

Gallen twisted inside, hundreds of small legs wriggling and grasping at each other.

He followed his oldest sibling, just like he always had for millennia.

Obedient Gallen. Peaceable Gallen.

Even before mother had taken his tongue, he’d always been like that.

Inshii led him and Rhyssa down a narrow hallway, their precise steps echoing in the near-silence. The faint buzz of electric illumination was the only sound.

Then the lights flickered for a second.

Gallen blinked, looking at his sibling inquiringly. Inshii sighed, their brightly colored fins flicking.

“That’s how much power this has taken. We have backup generators, more than enough…but that’s happened plenty of times over the past few perigees. All Lifeweaver had to do was make a troll body that could meld with a swarm. I’ve had to achieve far more than that.”

“What d’ya mean?” Rhyssa asked, sounding genuinely curious as she ran a finger through her shoulder-length hair.

Inshii’s eyebrows raised in mild surprise, but they stopped, facing their sister with their arms crossed.

“When Mother fell and fused with a mother grub, she became undead. Etuuya was alive when they were merged with Lleios’s remains, integrated over multiple operations so they wouldn’t die of shock or blood loss.

I don’t have that luxury; she’s weak and unstable enough that if I fail now, I might not be able to try again and keep her mind intact.

She can’t be killed…but suffering eternally in that carcass of a body, her mind slipping more and more until she forgets us all? She might wish she was dead.” The butterfly swarm said bluntly.

Rhyssa had taken her hat off to hold it, as a gesture of respect. Gallen bowed his head to go along with her, and so he could compose himself.

Klirro was right. Tuuya was right. Everything Inshii said confirmed it.

If he could do this, even with the hell that would come of it, everything would get better.

His hands shook as Rhyssa put her hat back on.

Inshii’s face softened slightly, an unusual sight.

“Don’t worry, Gallen.” They said in a marginally warmer tone, as caring as they had been capable of since the ten had died all those sweeps ago.

“I’ve accounted for everything; I will not fail. She’ll finally be well again.”

No, they hadn’t accounted for everything. They had no idea what their little brother had in his pocket. A substance modeled from the same scientific notes Inshii had used for this project.

Another one of Rhomox Vannyn’s discoveries.

Inshii kept walking a little longer, then stopped in front of a plain gray, unmarked door, flashing their ID card at a scanner once more.

Gallen would have whistled if he could, so instead it was tuneless air blown through his lips as he walked inside, and Rhyssa herself made a softly impressed ‘aaah.’

Inshii looked a bit smug, despite their sibling’s frequent insistence that they didn’t indulge in such trollish things.

The space was vast, a tangle of pipes, vats, and scientific equipment whose names the isopod swarm couldn’t even begin to guess at. Dials all over the room glowed from within, and somewhere a machine beeped softly in long intervals.

Long hair flowing as they moved more quickly, the false seadweller walked over to the largest vat of all, one taller than their nearly eight foot height, horns aside.

Gallen knew, with a sudden surge of fear, that that was it.

Rhyssa turned completely toward it as well, the wasps she used to see beating their wings frantically as they hovered over her shoulders.

Inshii looked at the various readout screens on the vat and what they saw must’ve pleased his oldest sibling because they nodded and took out a beautiful old glass container shaped like a chrysalis. The glass shone jade and white where it was not clear.

Gallen shuddered as he saw several of his mother’s green flukes wriggling within. Just like the one that had taken over Tuuya.

Wait.

He signed a question.

Isn’t that -

“Vassiq’s work, one of the last she ever made.” Said Inshii quietly, holding the container with reverence. “One of the few we have left.”

Gallen couldn’t cry as trolls did. He had no heart.

Still he trembled, isopods pressing against his skin.

Vassiq. The fly. Dead because she’d tried to kill Ozryel with the other ten, her eggshell destroyed and her corpse burned. Dead because she’d just wanted to be free.

She’d been the best artisan of them all.

How could Inshii stand there and use their sister’s work to hold her killer?

Rhyssa was unusually still, even her wings beating slowly from the parts she used as eyes.

“Will you offer us a prayer, Gallen?” Inshii asked, solemn.

He looked at them in shock, his face rippling in surprise. Inshii had never thought much of religion.

He wished he had incense to light, an altar to kneel by by. He wished he could believe there was anything holy about what they were about to do.

Still he closed his eyes and put a hand to his chest.

He prayed Inshii was wrong, that his mother could be laid to rest after all.

He prayed whatever afterlife she went to was a kind one. A peaceful one.

He prayed his hands would not falter as he did to her what Rhomox Vannyn had done to Lleios. Wipe away the mind, leave the body behind.

Gallen hoped so hard for all of this that he hurt, and then his hand dropped from his chest. He nodded at Inshii, glad he couldn’t speak.

Rhyssa sniffed. With no tears to shed, she tugged at the band covering her wasp-filled sockets instead.

“I hope this works.” She mumbled. “It’ll be like old times. When we were all together, and everythin’ was perfect.”

Everything had never been perfect. Their siblings would still be dead. Ozryel had driven them to desperation when they were alive, had refused to listen when they’d tried to reason with her.

Gallen regretted not helping them. Not taking a side. If he had…

If he had, it probably wouldn’t have made a difference.

Nothing he’d done for his family ever had.

Inshii pressed a button, and the lid of the vat slid back with a faint sliding noise, impressively quiet for how large it was.

He could smell it now. The organic stench of nutrient-rich solution used to grow facsimile bodies.

Inshii stepped onto a ladder bolted to the side of the vat and he held up a hand. They raised their eyebrows, fins flicking.

He signed, Can I go up after you?

“Don’t be silly, Gallen.” Inshii said, tongue clicking. “There’s no space. I’ll bring her down so we can witness her awakening. It will likely take a minute or so.”

Good. That was all he needed.

He nodded to show he understood.

Inshii went up the ladder, their sherwani rippling from their movement. He - and Rhyssa - watched them intently.

What would their sibling bring down? What body had they made for Ozryel?

Though he writhed with nervousness, resignation settling heavy into his chitin, Gallen couldn’t help but be curious. He’d known her current shape for so long, it was difficult to imagine her in another.

He and his sister watched as Inshii took a fluke out of the glass container…and used their other hand - now in a rubber glove - to gently pick up a troll-shaped body. Viscous drops of amber fluid slowly dribbled off of it.

The view was partially blocked by their sibling, but Gallen could see the body’s eyes were closed, that it had long white hair and pale horns that resembled his mother’s.

They moved their arm. He could only assume they were putting the fluke in.

No noise. Nothing.

Inshii carried the body down in both arms, container put back in their sylladex, its - her - eyes still closed. She didn’t move.

Vial in his hand, Gallen lunged.

Rhyssa cried out and Inshii barked an order to stop. Neither moved quickly enough to stop him as he forced the contents down Ozryel’s throat.

Then his sister tackled him to the hard floor, snarling and buzzing as she swore and stung him over and over, ripping through his skin to the isopods beneath.

Gallen did not fight back even as dozens of his isopods thrashed and died. He lay there, letting her wound him, staring up at the pale ceiling and the dark pipes running along it.

He wondered if he was about to wake up in his eggshell, a sparse few isopods once more.

“Stop.” Inshii’s clipped voice said through his haze of pain. “Let mother handle him. The serum is working.”

Rhyssa gasped in relief and Gallen’s hopes sank in dread as he saw his mother’s pale gray fingertips moving, noticed the syringe in Inshii’s hand as they gave him a narrow-eyed violet stare.

“I don’t know why you’ve done this, but I can guess. You’ve betrayed us, gone over to Tuuya and their allies. I’d ask you why…but I don’t think I care.”

Feebly, Gallen tried to use his arms to sign an answer, but Rhyssa stung them and they collapsed into dying isopods.

His mother’s eyes flickered and opened, glowing a solid, brilliant green. Shorter than all of them, slim and almost petite, she vaulted out of her oldest child’s arms to land on the floor with a thud, her feet bare. Her only clothing was a pale teal dress, and she still dripped fluid on the floor as she stepped over to him. The pincers at the edges of her lips snapped in fury as her eyes shone with rage and delight.

“My only son.” She said, with a dry and raspy voice, different yet unmistakably familiar, unused to speaking aloud. “My last son. Why do you turn on me? The only mother you’ve ever had?”

Her tone was gently chiding, almost fond, but Gallen knew that meant nothing.

He spoke in the silent language of swarms, isopods forming shapes and symbols that all of his family read without comment.

“So misguided.” His mother said, still soft. “It isn’t your fault. You were tricked. You forget your siblings’ cruelty. They were unkind to you too.”

Gallen shook his head. She was lying. He had to remember she was lying.

Ozryel clicked her tongue.

“You’ve been very bad. You need a time-out.”

She knelt down next to him and put a hand to his chest. Right where he had when he’d prayed earlier.

Green flukes came out of her wrist, squirming over his remaining isopods to secrete liquid that dissolved him, segment by segment, leg by leg. He soundlessly screamed in agony, bereft of the tongue she had taken so long ago. The voice she’d silenced for the crime of not taking a side.

“Leave one.” Said Inshii, voice hard. “He can stay here. Otherwise who knows where he’ll go when he comes back in the cavern.”

Rhyssa snarled. “Yeah, what Shii said. We can’t let him outta our sight.”

“You don’t give me orders, children.” Murmured Ozryel in a tone of saccharine warning. “I’ll concede the butterfly is right this time. Just mind your tone, or I might think you intend to join your brother.”

Rhyssa opened her mouth, and as Gallen’s troll eyes melted away, he could see the hurt on his sister’s face before she closed it again.

In less than a minute, there was only one of him. A single white isopod, shivering as his mother picked him up in one hand. Helpless to resist her firm grip, she squeezed him so hard he nearly cracked, his legs struggling against her cold hand.

She leaned in to whisper so he could hear.

“Next time I won’t be so generous.”

His vision in this state was too poor to grasp what happened around him, but the next thing he knew, Gallen was locked in a dark, airless box with needles puncturing him all over his body.

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t see, or hear, or feel anything but pain and constriction.

The isopod prayed.

He prayed for the people he had failed so terribly.

He wished with everything he had that his mother would finally die.

—

Ozryel patted the box she had locked her son in, with a soft, needle-fanged smile, then set it aside.

Pausing, concentrating, she clenched her fists and there came a great cracking of bone, a sliding and warping of flesh as wings sprung from her back. Insectoid, yet shaped as if they were feathered, they shone with iridescent hints of rainbow color.

“Fly with me, children. We make for Hanhai.”

Rhyssa scratched her head.

“The desert? What d’ya want there? Thought we were goin’ after Tuuya and their lot.”

Inshii’s eyes also narrowed, then their expression cleared.

“Ah. Their daughter’s cavern.”

Ozryel gave her oldest child a feral smile.

“Kotenkha’s as well. One of her spawn fought me in the second worm’s body, allowing them to escape…it is long past time I gave that bloodline their due.”

The mother of swarms stepped outside the building, squinting as her eyes adjusted to the starlight she had not seen in over four thousand sweeps.

Ever since a wretched jade woman with a komondor lusus had shot her out of the sky.

#cloud writes #children of ozryel #gallen #rhyssa #inshii #ozryel #I think that went well #also round of applause for Thrixe. that's the serum Ullane made from him #ain't science great

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xdeusxmachinax · 1 year

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Why I swim with the Pisces

I can’t be sure I’m manic depressive exactly. For a long time, my diagnosis was kept from me, and what I have exactly, I’m not sure. All I do know is that somewhere before I was ten, I began to have periods of intense panic, and sorrow. I’d break down crying if something I couldn’t immerse myself in wasn’t on TV. I’d burst into a sobbing mess if my mother was out of sight for two long. I remember deliberately wetting the bed to try and spend a little more time near her, and she called me out on it. I think I was seven, and it was shortly after being rescued from almost being molested.

I remember not wanting to go out and catch bugs, or line my pokemon toys on the front steps, like elite four champions. I just wanted to sit and watch cartoons. I remember my mother nearly crying with frustration, because she was trying to wrangle my younger brother and I was still sitting staring at my school clothes, not dressed for the day. I was crying. It genuinely felt like I couldn’t move to put them on. And I didn’t know why. I didn’t know why I was being so bad.

At some point, after talking to a lot of really friendly strangers in crisp offices filled with toys, I was given medicine. And it made me feel a little better. For a while.It’s a process, especially as a child, to find what medicine works for you. It’s even worse, as you couple it with puberty and adding on things like Birth Control. But overtime, I began to see two sides of myself.

There was one, who felt a bit like a disney princess. She could sing, and clean, and make people’s days better by being friendly, and she made plans. Big plans, not always things she could finish, but she dreamed big. I thought of that as ‘the real me.’

Then, there was the other me. Who felt like she was made of toothpicks, created just to fall apart, and hurt everyone else, made to crumple and suffer at the slightest difficulty. During the teens and twenties, her teeth came in. I’d lash out when I was hurt, but always in private. online, or at my sweet, confused step-father. I’d spew all the vicious venomous things my mind could come up with, anything to get the hurt, and anger and frustration out of me and into someone else. I hurt a lot of my online friends then. Never to their face, of course, but to other friends, my then-boyfriend, people I know wouldn’t spread it. People who let me get the venom out. I’m never going to forgive myself for the things I said.

It’s easier now. If anyone else has a dynamic like this in their hearts, I swear to you, that it does get easier. I’m in my thirties now, and as the years pass it feels less and less like I’m two impossible contrasts pulling against each other, and more like I’m two halves together.

When I first met my now-husband, we would talk on the phone. And we would talk for hours, and when we talked, I’d walk in circles. Especially when I was feeling like my disney princess self.

“Like a goldfish in a bowl!” my husband chimed, cheerfully. And from then on, that was my nickname, Tinafish.

I’d never really had a name I liked. Tina always seemed clunky and unpleasant. And Kristina was my name when I was in trouble, or had to do something professional. Tinafish felt perfect. It felt like a nickname from a friend. And it stuck. I was doubly charmed, because my star sign was pisces.

I think, that sing, the Two fish, swimming in opposite directions, has sort of become something of a mantra to me. That just because I’m a little broken doesn’t mean I’m wrong, or unnatural. There’s always been a symbol for people with a mind like me. I’ve always been just a fish, moving the pebbles in her bowl best she can. and sometimes swimming in confused circles. And thats okay. I’ve reached a point where most days, I’m okay. More often than not even, I’m okay.

And I have cute little fish pins, as ballasts. A little cotton fish my sister-in-law hand knit for me. and I’m not a venemous creature or a disney princess. I’m just me. Just a fish. And I’m still swimming okay.

#tw mental illness discussion #not upset just having a ponder

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kharmii · 2 days

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small apology here, my rant about fakers, fauxtism and all that.

Gotta admit that I have stopped BNHA a few years ago. Not because I thought it was bad. I still like the world building and characters and how a lot of the Quirks reflect the personalities from everyone, I just didn't fully vibe with the direction the series took when it shifted away a little to hard from the academy life and all that. But gotta agree on Todoroki on all the points you've made. And I reach out to you in sympathy to you. Considering everything you've likely been through you have become incredibly strong, even if a little rough around the edges but honestly considering how things online are it's no wonder... I really admire you for being headstrong and being above so much stuff. And from your examples I also see that it's also from others being "others" causing more harm than good.

I have my own catalogue of examples of others having caused my depressions and anxieties (on top of many other things) and sometimes my attempts to step out of situations were outright ignored or dismissed. Too often others CAUSE people to react certain ways. And it really is just insulting when I see people see medical conditions as an aesthetic or a quirky personality trait or worse a free pass to be an asshole towards others "you can't be mad at me cause of my autism I dont know any better" bs

either way just wanting to know I really appreciated you talking about yourself and Todoroki and if anything it made me appreciate you even more.

Thanks for this! Tell me if I'm wrong because I like to play armchair shrink, (and it's totally projection) but is some of the resentment over fakers/fauxtism because they make it look fun and easy? -Like look at me! I'm (neurodivergent/mentally ill) and am having this great time expressing my quirkiness and individuality! I'm expressing my asshattery in a sassy and quirky way that will by no means create a fallout worse than the condition itself! People find me interesting after all!

Meanwhile, suffering from the abuse survivor's form of the 'tism, I've got the thousand-yard stare of that person not allowed to be quirky a day in my life. The slightest bit of weird behavior immediately got smacked down, and sometimes I'd be going about my normal business and get attacked out of nowhere wondering what I did this time. Then I get labeled as being cold and soul-less, like wait...are you saying that I'm not allowed to express my individuality in any way, but when I get that much closer to achieving 'perfection', then I'm accused of not having a personality at all? There has to be some sort of middle ground that every human being on earth is allowed except me.

Then there's the old 'Why don't you (x) like other (x)?' from Stalker Guy that couple times when we were still good. It was never anything having to do with a personality, more like yet another person trying to play puppeteer molding me into an ideal.

I just got into BNHA in January and had to limit myself to 3-4 episodes a day so I didn't binge burn through them. The X-Men fan in me loved the idea of a society of complex mutants, even with a greater suspension of disbelief. The "Hellish Todorokis" were a draw. At first, Shoto was such a 'blah' character, but then there's the first good abuse analogy where he wouldn't use his fire side because he didn't want to be like the dad he was pissed at. Ironically, some of his personality might be from abuse, but some of his stoicism and coldness might be because he actually takes after Endeavor. That's part of why Endeavor could never have hoped to become #1 or breed a future #1. Maybe he didn't understand that the sensitive warm-hearted All Might was the symbol of peace because he was one-part superpowers and one-part good public relation skills. :-P

The Endeavor redemption arc was good, even though the fandom got worked up about it. Come on now, it's okay for people to apologize and feel regret for the terrible things they did (how refreshing of a concept), and it's not like his family was like 'all is forgiven; let's pretend like it never happened'. They were still angry and hurting but willing to work toward a better relationship going forward. That's realistic and reasonable.

Every so often, I'll think to google if Dabi is still alive, but I shouldn't hold out hope. -Or maybe one could see it like...if he has to live his life blind and missing an arm, he's better off deceased.

As much as I loved Todoroki drama, it was the Meta Liberation Army that really grabbed me. What a waste of potential they all were! Maybe kids might be bored with them and happy they were one-shot villains, but as an adult, I loved the politician who used 'incite' to get the useful idiots going, or the goofball CEO doubling as a secret cult leader, or the skulking creepy hacker in charge of intel. Then there's my Himura ship I'm not advertising as incest because, even if I couldn't care less either way if it was or not, I'm sick of the foaming at the mouth crazies getting worked up about it. A person could be trying their absolute hardest to write a decent story in good faith, and the antis will glom onto the stupid kink and make it 100% defined by it.

#fandumb fail #fauxtism #character analysis #fun stuff

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firstcurse-moved · 1 year

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Okay so TBH I wanted to try write a better response to this but I feel like if I don’t try to write it now it’ll never get done and I ALREADY FEEL BAD for putting this on the backburner, omg, I’m so sorry anon. Anyway, I’m not saying this is canon or what canon intended, this is just my personal take on what the clocks are all about. Remember, I’m not smart so if this doesn’t make any sense I’m really sorry lol.

My interpretation of the clocks is BASCIALLY that Henry is very much not a fan of social constructs. Keeping in mind that Henry’s time of living was 50s-80s. If you think the world is an oppressive shit hole now boy do I have news for you; it was a thousand times worse in Henry’s time. Its largely due to social constructs that Henry suffered as he did, as someone who was an outcast to social norms and was unable to completely conform to societies ridged view of right and normal because ists and phobes are still a thing now, they were a lot worse then.

“Time” represents humanities greatest social construct of all and clocks symbolize time. Moreover, Henry would practice his psionic abilities on the grandfather clock that existed in his childhood home. He would use his mind to wind the hands back and forth as he wanted. This was a big moment for Henry in my HC because it was the first time he was able to consciously and purposely manipulate a “physical” thing with his powers and also it came with the realization that he could essentially check out of societies expectations of him because he had powers unlike anything else in society.

GOING DEEPER AGAIN, I view the clocks as also symbolic of Henry’s imprisonment. He was trapped the Hawkins Lab for 20 years. He spent 20 years of his life just waiting for that nightmare to end. He didn’t know how the end would come, he didn’t know if he would grow old and die or if he would be killed, or if something miraculous would happen and he would be freed somehow. MY personal interpretation that I’ve got going on until canon tells me something different says Henry was trapped in a place where clocks and lights were a conduit to reality, to the real world, the world outside of the lab. In that lab, time was all Henry had. Both things have become symbolic to Henry as a result.

The same remains true of his time as Vecna, in the upside down. He spent years wandering the upside down, evolving, learning, honing his powers and chipping away at the barrier between Hawkins and the upside down, with the goal of eventually breaking though.

Merging Hawkins with the upside down kind of represents a sort of a “propaganda of the deed,” but in a way that seems true to the horror genre with the aesthetic kind of being that's he’s become an agent of doom, he’s heralding in the “end” of the world (as it currently is) in which an “end” is considered the furthest part to the flow of time and therefore can also be represented by a clock. Each victim brings him closer, each victim is symbolized by the chiming of the clock. Four being the magic number might also be symbolic of the four points of time/day: Morning, afternoon, evening and night.

I mentioned before, in my POV, a lot of Henry’s manifestations as Vecna are symbolic to him on a very personal level. He’s walking psychological horror, and he very much represents PSTD, depression and trauma, abuse, suicidal tendencies, etc and these were intentional themes outside of canon and most of are things Henry suffered himself in canon. Things that had an emotional/mental/physical impact on Henry as a human are repeated and projected outwardly through Vecna and Vecna’s “curse”.

Like you said the spiders are obvious but THIS is how the clocks factor into him in my opinion. Like the spiders they mean something to him on a personal level but everything that meant something to Henry has become very twisted and ominous as Vecna.

ANYWAY I hope that made sense! I’m not saying its COMPLETELY canon but its what I’ve been reading from canon so far. In conclusion: Henry/Vecna is not just a senseless monster, he’s the radical leftist activist that turns to terrorism to make the centric protagonists look good: Horror genre edition. Literally he’s the horror genre’s version of M*gneto or Erik Killm*nger. Its a hill I guess I’m gonna have to die on but at least I know JCB is ready to die on it with me:

#⊰ ° ‧: 🕸️ * ● 𝐈 ° ━◞ Out Of Character ⊱#⊰ ° ‧: 🕸️ * ● 𝐈 ° ━◞ Headcanons ⊱#headcanons

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whumpster-fire · 2 years

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Whumptober 2022, Day 26: Separated

Okay my Whumptober has been a miserable and spectacular failure because I've basically spent the last two months having no energy to do anything but work and zone out watching YouTube videos. Depression sucks. But at least I finished the one I really wanted to do this year.

You can also read this story on AO3

Fandom: His Dark Materials. Characters: Lyra Silvertongue & Pantalaimon. Content Warnings: Minor Whump. Nothing graphic, just emotional aftereffects of traumatic events in canon that happened when they were 11-12 and they're now like mid-teens so it deserves a CW.

Lyra Silvertongue woke from the dream with a jolt. She lay motionless in bed, tangled in the blanket, with nothing making sense. Her heart was hammering, and she thought she’d just felt herself falling. A dream? No, there had been a dream, a horrible one, but she didn’t think there’d been falling in it. Moonlight and the faint glow of anbaric street lamps flooded her eyes. She shut them again, and tucked her knees in close, shuddering as it started to come back to her.

“Pan?” she said with a growing dread. “Pan, where are you?”

“Ow! What? Lyra!” The response came as a sleepy, confused, irritated mumble, but it was a response. Lyra breathed a sigh of relief as her daemon, Pantalaimon, leaped up onto the bed. “I’m right here!”

“On the floor?” Lyra glanced at the nest of sheets on the nightstand she’d made for him. He said it was too hot under the covers sometimes, but they both knew the real reason. Maybe it was part of growing up, part of settling. She knew daemons that settled in the form of birds usually slept on a perch, and those that took the form of insects or reptiles must have had to sleep separately too. She was glad Pan had become a pine marten – she would have loved him all the same whatever his true form turned out to be, but he’d almost always curled up with her as an ermine or a wildcat, and she didn’t want to have that torn away too along with everything else. But it had felt strange and uneasy for a while now. Maybe because they couldn’t quite feel each other anymore. They couldn’t sense where they were without touching, and they’d used to be so still in their sleep but now they’d become so restless.

“I was on the bed.”

“Did you fall off?” Lyra groped for the lamp chain in the dark. Warm yellow light bathed the room, and Pan groaned and ran his paws over his ears.

“I think you kicked me off,” Pan replied with annoyance. “It hurts like you did, anyway.”

“Sorry.” Lyra thought she could feel a very faint throbbing in her ribs, and a feeling in her neck like it had been jarred sideways, but maybe she was imagining it. “I… had a nightmare.” Saying those words aloud hurt almost worse than the guilt of having kicked him, because she shouldn’t have had to say it at all.

They didn’t share dreams anymore. Not since they’d… no, not since she’d torn them apart. Pan was still there, usually. Sometimes she was by herself, which she guessed made sense because they could travel far apart in the real world too now, but it felt awful, and it was even worse when he was there, because it wasn’t really him. It was like he’d been replaced with a marten-shaped doll that moved, and spoke with his voice, but she could always tell he wasn’t there with her, and he’d said the version of her that was in his dreams now felt fake too.

But this time, he had felt real, and it was so much worse. So much worse. “You weren’t… you weren’t there, were you?” she asked, and mentally begged him not to say yes. “I mean, really there?”

“I don’t know.” Pan was shaking like a leaf, but he growled and slunk away to the foot of the bed when she reached for him. “What was it?

Lyra tried to speak, but words vanished from her mind the same as the alethiometer’s symbols had the last time she’d tried to ask it a question. Her vision blurred with tears. “I… give me a second.” She muttered a curse under her breath. “It was… we were fightin’. I dunno what about, just… somethin’ stupid, it don’t matter what, but I said...” she had to take another breath to steady her voice. “I said you didn’t understand nowt about me anymore, and you told me I shouldn’t complain ‘cuz I was the one that did this to us! And then you said you… you didn’t wanna be my daemon anymore. You ran off and I was running after you, and… that must’ve been when I kicked you out of bed and woke us both up.”

“Oh.” Pan’s shoulders slumped, and he collapsed onto his belly. “That’s good. I mean… I mean, I didn’t say that to you, but...” he swallowed hard. “That’s good because… it shouldn’t be a good thing we’re broken like this, but the me in your dream wasn’t real, and the you in my dream wasn’t real, so… it’s nothing. Just a nightmare, right?” He buried his face in the covers.

“Yeah.” Lyra groaned, and held her hand to her chest. Her heart had barely slowed down, and she felt almost sick. He hadn’t said he would never say it.

“What was yours?”

“My what?”

“Your dream.”

“It was… I don’t know. I don’t remember any of it. No – I think it’s coming back to me. We were in that Latin exam, the one in two days, and you hadn’t studied at all -”

“No it wasn’t, Pan.” Lyra had spent half her life telling lies, and Pan alongside her, and she could damn well tell when he was lying to her. “You said you didn’t know if we had the same dream or not, and I know you’ve been fretting over that bloody exam, but not like this.”

“We should get some sleep,” he muttered. “Tomorrow’s the last day before the exam. Good night, Lyra.”

“Pan, I’m not getting back to sleep not knowing and neither are you. Just tell me. I told you what mine was, we shouldn’t be keeping… secrets from each other!”

“You don’t want to know,” Pan choked out. “And you don’t deserve to be hurt by it too… it wasn’t the real you.”

“I don’t bloody well care if I want to know or not, you’re still my daemon! I should’ve been there with you, and it’s… if it was that bad, then you don’t deserve to suffer through it alone! I know I’m the one that did this to us, and there’s not a day I don’t want to take it back, but...” Lyra sniffed, and wiped her eyes on her nightdress. “I know I can’t, I know there’s no way of just fixing ourselves, but… we’ve got to learn to live like this, like the… like the breathless ones. En’t that what they were? The people whose ribs were cut and their lungs pulled out, and their daemons had to help them breathe? If they can do that, we can live with telling each other our dreams.”

“I don’t think that’s the best metaphor.”

“You’re right. It’s not. I just meant… we’ve got to find ways of helping each other. We’re still the same person. Dreams and pain en’t meant to be separate like this, and they’re not! Just because I wasn’t there with you doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt me too if you’re in pain, because I love you!”

There was a quiet, choking sob from under the blankets, and Lyra couldn’t hold back one of her own. Maybe it was true. Maybe she’d dreamed it because it was how Pan really felt, and he just hadn’t said it yet. “Pan, please. Do you remember all the nightmares about… about Bolvangar? And Roger? And Billy Costa?” Lyra had woken up drenched in sweat so many times, and Pan shivering and whimpering and sometimes digging his claws into her, and they’d just held each other, and reassured each other that they would never be ripped apart like that. Even after they’d been separated, sometimes the dream still came. The worst had been when Lyra found herself clutching a dried fish, and Pan hadn’t been in the dream at all. She’d hardly been able to smell seafood for months after without being sick.

“I know, Lyra, I know. This one’s different. It’s...” Pan crawled into her lap, his chest heaving in and out. “I hardly remember any of it. I think there was something you had to do, somewhere you had to go, but… you kept saying you were sorry, but you had to, to… to find Will or something, and then we were on the mountain in Svalbard, and… and you put me into that cage, that Lord Asriel used -”

Lyra let out a stifled “Oh, no!” The cage he’d used to make the bridge. To kill Roger Parslow and Salcilia. “Oh, Pan!” She scooped her daemon up in her arms and clutched him to her chest. He was shaking like a leaf still, and his heart was so fast it was like the rattling of an unbalanced anbaric fan. Lyra had learned a number of words that were supposedly inappropriate for a young lady to use, from the other barbarians of Oxford, from Ma Costa, from Lee Scoresby, and Will Parry, and she recited many of them under her breath. Then for a long time, all either of them could do was cry. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Pan, I could never -” But Lyra couldn’t finish the sentence, because she knew all too well what the dream had really been about. She had. She’d done this to them. To him. How could she have done this?

“You… you didn’t bring the blade down,” Pan muttered into her nightdress that was now damp with tears. “You were about to, but you – the real you – kicked me off the bed. So… thanks for that at least.”

“I’m so sorry,” Lyra repeated. “If I could take it back, if – there had to be another way, there had to -”

“There wasn’t. If there was – if there was anything I could think of that could possibly worked I wouldn’t have let you cross that river. But… it doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

“I know. I know.” Lyra ran her fingers through his fur in a slow, soothing rhythm.“Every minute I was away from you, it hurt. And seeing Roger and Lee Scoresby and all the rest trapped there, alone… if Will hadn’t been there I don’t know if I’d have gotten through it.”

“At least you got to say goodbye to them. I… no, even if I’d been with you, I couldn’t have. I don’t know if… it wouldn’t have just hurt more.”

Lyra didn’t have to say anything to know what he meant. Salcilia, and Hester, still wouldn’t have been there. “You’ve never told me what happened to you and Kirjava when you were by yourselves. I know it must’ve been awful, but… Pan, have you been keeping it from me because you didn’t want it to hurt me? All this time I’ve thought you were angry with me.”

“I don’t know,” Pan choked out. “I was, at first, and then I didn’t want to ruin the last of the time we had together. And after that, I just… I didn’t want to remind myself of it too much.” He shuddered, and took a breath.

“Kirjava couldn’t speak for a while, and I… I couldn’t either, at first. And I was afraid that we’d become like the severed grown-ups’ daemons in Bolvangar. I know the witches’ daemons aren’t like that, but it… it felt like it. And I think it was just the light down there, but we just looked… grey, and lifeless, and almost see-through. Like the ones in the cages.” he gulped. “When I remembered what words were, I just… kept talking, even if it was probably all nonsense. Half for her, and half because I had to prove to myself I was still there, and to… not go mad. Kirjava kept trying to walk into the river, or fly into it, and it was all I could do not to join her. You had Will, and Kirjava’s just as strong as him, but the shock was so bad for her that I couldn’t ask her to… help me. To carry me. Not until we got out of the World of the Dead. It was like when Will was sick and barely conscious, and… then we had each other, and we had the witches, but I was alone.”

Lyra hadn’t thought of that. She hadn’t imagined it. But she didn’t know what she could say.

“The whole time,” Pan continued, “I kept hoping you’d find us. That you’d come back for us, or that a window would open and you’d just be there. But the angels only ever said your work wasn’t done yet, and the whole time I was afraid something would happen to you and Will, or to us, while we were apart, and the only thing I’d know of it would be turning to Dust, and you’d be trapped in that dreadful place forever and the last time I ever saw you would be… would be you tearing yourself away!”

“I know, Pan. I know.”

Neither of them said anything for a while, and Lyra slowly slumped back against the head of the bed.

“I don’t know how the witches and their daemons can stand living like this,” Pan muttered. “Why do they do it? What about being able to go far apart’s worth all this?”

“We can write Serafina Pekkala in the morning,” Lyra suggested with a yawn. That was what they should have done ages ago, wasn’t it? Instead of just pretending it was all fine. “And study for the bloody exam. You’re right, Pan, we should get some sleep.” They’d been up late enough tonight as it was. Why did the worst dreams always come when she needed a good night’s rest most?

“Or we could sleep all morning and write her in the afternoon.”

“That does sound like a good idea.” She wasn’t looking forward to breakfast. Lyra set Pan down, and fluffed up the pillow that had been squashed from leaning against it. She half expected him to jump down from the bed, but he never unhooked his claws from her nightdress.

“Do you want to sleep up here?” she asked. “You haven’t for a while, and when you did I kicked you off the bed.”

Pan crawled to the edge of the pillow and tried to rest his head on it, then groaned and pulled himself halfway onto it. “I don’t think I can go back to sleep otherwise. Lyra, it felt so real. And… I can tell the difference when the real you’d holding me.”

Lyra laid her hand gently on his back, then reached to turn off the lamp. He still hadn’t stopped shivering, and the awful nervous ache deep in her chest hadn’t gone away either. She lay down, pulled the covers up almost over her head, and tried to focus on the feeling of Pan curled up next to her. The warmth of his small body, and the softness of his fur, and his rapid heartbeat.

“I don’t know if sleeping apart’s a good idea,” Pan mumbled. “I thought it was just what grownups did, and we wouldn’t be so tired in the mornings without all the tossing and turning trying to get comfortable, but I think the nightmares are getting worse.” He sighed, and snuggled closer to her, and slowly the tension started to leave their bodies. “This feels good. I hate that it’s not the same anymore, but… I’m tired. Of trying to be any more grown up than we have to be. I just want to go back...”

“I know,” Lyra whispered. “I do to.” She lay there for a while, the dull fog of sleep starting to overtake her. “I love you, Pan. That hasn’t changed. And it isn’t going to.”

A/N:

I’ve wanted to write this scene for over a year now, Whumptober finally gave me an excuse to. I haven’t read The Secret Covenant or the other post-Amber Spyglass stories, but I’ve heard that Lyra and Pan’s relationship deteriorates really badly so this may not be canon-compliant, but if it isn’t then fuck it. They have so little support system outside of each other, let them at least talk to each other about their trauma, as a treat.

Lyra and Pantalaimon aren’t always this messed up I don’t think, but they’re dealing with normal teenager things that are leaving them so stressed and tired that the old trauma rears its head again. Like school stress. Like having their circadian rhythms flip HARD to night owl mode, because I headcanon that people’s sleep schedules somewhat reflect their daemons’ form, so being a teenager with a nocturnal daemon is probably rough. Like having their bodies trying to be semi-nocturnal in an educational system that expects everyone to be morning people. Like settling early because of trauma but still having years of the misery of puberty to go through. Like coming home from the Hero’s Journey and having almost everything be worse in their lives. Like having to hide most of it from the world.

I forget if the Witches’ separation ritual was ever described in detail but I will bet there was some sort of adult guidance or support during or immediately after the process that Lyra, Pan, Will, and Kirjava did not get properly, and instead got immediately put through ANOTHER traumatic and permanent separation from the only other people who had been through the same thing.

#whumptober2022 #No.26 #Separated #His Dark Materials Fandom #Lyra Silvertongue #Pantalaimon Silvertongue #minor whumpees #daemon whump #daemon separation #hurt/comfort #nightmares #trauma nightmares

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evanescentjoy · 2 years

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Happy Birthday to Me

I turn 18 in 4 hours and 36 minutes.

18 represents the symbolic end of childhood and the beginning of adulthood. The ending of one chapter, and the start of another. A new period of life that comes with responsibilities, expectations, and a ridiculous amount of pressure.

I graduated high school on June 10, 2022.

I was in 10th grade during the first lockdown. The end of my sophomore year directly influenced my junior year. I was completely virtual and spent September 2020 to June 2021 staring at my bedroom wall and wishing I could disappear. During that time, I should have figured out a major and colleges to apply to. But every time I would think about college, I would have an anxiety attack. Eventually, senior year rolled around. It was “crunch time” so to speak. My dad did his best but I was unwilling. I graduated with no applications even sent out. And I have no idea why. I don’t know why I couldn’t just ask for teacher recommendations, or write a college essay. I just couldn’t do it. It’s been almost a year and I have yet to come to a conclusion.

I haven’t been truly happy in 4 years.

The last time I remember not feeling anxious or sad or depressed was the night before I started 10th grade. My freshman year of high school was amazing and I made some of my closest friends to this day. But sophomore year was the complete opposite. During the school year, I had my first panic attack (of very many to follow), I had a teacher who made it her life mission to make me miserable, and it was the first time I genuinely didn’t want to live. When Covid hit, it only got worse. I spent the entirety of my junior year wanting to die. I broke down every day, I couldn’t eat or sleep, and I cried through a test of two (thousand). It slowly got better during my senior year, but anxiety is a cruel bitch. Now, sitting here with virtually no future, those feelings are back in full force. They almost feel worse this time because I understand what they are now. Just existing feels impossible and suffocating these days. I can’t bring myself to do anything. I have to get a job soon since I’m not doing school, but I’m dreading it.

I feel so isolated.

My family has a real issue of disregarding feelings. I can’t talk to my family because they would say some shit like “You need to grow up” or “I guess I’m just a bad parent then”. Thank you so much for the support guys. I’m just supposed to be happy and positive ALL THE TIME. Meanwhile, I wake up everyday wishing I could just go back to sleep and never wake up. I handle my feelings like every mature person: I cry all the fucking time. I cry myself to sleep, I cry when certain songs play, I just fucking cry. The worst part is that it’s the only thing that makes me feel slightly better afterwards.

BONUS:

In the little break I took while writing this, I got a wonderful reminder of why I really fucking hate my birthday. My parents are divorced, and HATE each other. They can’t be civil with each other for two minutes (not even for their kids). I’m at my moms house on my birthday, but wanted to see my dad at some point during the day. I asked if he wanted to go to breakfast, and I got a short, nasty message back saying he has to work. I decided to drop it then, and wait until when I see him in 2 days. No, of course not. He then asks if we can go to dinner, but I already have dinner plans with my mom and sister. So, my sister and I spent over an hour trying to figure dinner out, only to have my dad shoot down and criticize everything we suggest. So, I get to sit through a miserable birthday dinner with my dad and sister, and I don’t get to have dinner with my mom.

And of course I procrastinated while writing this, so when I post this, I will turn 18 in 1 hour and 30 minutes, and it feels fucking horrible 👍.

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starcchild · 2 years

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speaking of carter's birthday! (I voted it was pushed back because the symbolism of the planets and the whole new year thing) I'm wondering if Carter cares about her birthday in the ikau at all. I went through depression myself and I DREADED my birthday I felt like 'please do not pay attention to me let's not celebrate I was born' (I'm doing better now) but on top of depression, Carter might suffer survivor guilt from the car crash and like she doesn't deserve to grow old another year 😞

((it’s funny you should ask, because I do have a hc post I was planning on posting on her birthday, but because I pushed her birthday back to October, I might write it sooner? given that I can,,, remember all that I wanted to talk about SDFGJHKSDGF

anyway, regarding her birthday in the ikau, it’s... definitely a hit or miss. Before Obadiah’s death, it was, actually, something she looked forward to! At first, though, it was definitely hard - she didn’t want to celebrate when her father first died because of, like you mentioned, her depression and survivor’s guilt (which is something she does carry in the ikau regarding the accident), and also it just... didn’t feel the same without him. She never liked having a lot of attention on her, and definitely never liked parties (even though Tony would, obviously, keep her parties tame compared to his dfsghjgfdhj), but he still made sure she always had fun on her birthday! So, it just... obviously wasn’t the same

however, with Obadiah, that was the one day she always knew he would be kind. Although that could never erase her fear of saying or doing the wrong thing and setting him off, he just... was always nice. He wouldn’t throw a party or anything, which was absolutely fine by her, but she could... really do whatever she wanted, and while he didn’t really do any gifts, he would still wish her a happy birthday, and sometimes he’d bring home ice-cream or cake. Nothing big, nothing he really put any heart into, but... it definitely helped keep his control over her, so on his end, despite Carter believing he was doing it because he did love her, it was just another way to manipulate her, and convince her he was the only one who cared. Because... no one else seemed to remember her birthday other than him

after his death, however, Carter... stopped caring. She didn’t want anyone knowing it was her birthday, and never wanted to do anything to celebrate, either. I like leaving whether or not the others know when her birthday is up in the air for rp purposes, but, either way, she’s always going to claim she doesn’t celebrate. She doesn’t see the need to, but “it’s no big deal - thanks for asking, though”. And that in itself isn’t a big deal - not everyone does celebrate their birthday for various reasons, anyway, so... no red flags. It still hurts, considering she had celebrated it in the past, but... she really doesn’t feel like she deserves to celebrate it any further. Especially after everything with Ultron. Her birthday just became another day, and she’d rather keep it that way, even if the memories got worse

though, I will say, every now and then she’d treat herself to take out. Nothing spectacular or pricey, just... something for herself, y’know? But, considering how much guilt she carries for... just about everything, it’s not something she does every year, or something she actually goes through with. She’ll get take out, and... proceed to be unable to eat it because of her guilt, and leave it in the kitchen for someone else to take. After all, if there’s no name and no one claims it, it’s fair game

but, yeah! like with everything else with Carter in the ikau, it’s... complicated fsdhjkgfdsjh

also I’m glad you’re doing better!! <3 depression fucking sucks

#asks #anons #ikau headcanons #death tw #abuse tw

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therenlover · 3 years

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In Fleeting Touches & Airy Sighs Chapter One (A Three Chapter Helmut Zemo/Reader Fanfic)

(Thank you to the wonderful anon who requested angst and smut between Zemo and the reader because Zemo had to be away from her on the run!)

Synopsis: A year after working together with Zemo in the events of Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Sam and Bucky seek him out once again in need of shelter from John Walker. Meanwhile, Zemo’s wife resents his absence and prepares for guests.

Tags: Flashbacks, Depression, Alcoholism, Separation Anxiety, Arguing, Struggling Marriage, Reunions

Rating: T (E in future chapters)

Warnings: Guns, Swearings, Reader shows signs of alcoholism/alcohol abuse, Reader uses a hot shower as a mild form of self harm

Word Count: 5000~

This fic has been crossposted under the same title to my AO3!

----------

Helmut Zemo was not often a man backed into a corner.

He was smart, resourceful, and had nothing left to lose. If it came down to the line, he would do whatever had to be done within his morals to achieve his goals, even if that goal was simply staying alive. The Baron bowed to no man, and made his enemies, no matter their size, fall to their knees with sheer wit instead of brute strength. That’s why, when he stood backed into an alley with the barrel of James Barnes’ gun to his forehead as the Falcon watched on, it was strange that he didn’t try to weasel his way out.

“We need answers,” Sam said, hands in the pockets of his dark hoodie. Bucky wore a similar one, only he wore a baseball cap instead of keeping his hood up. “How the hell did you break out of prison for a second time?”

Usually, Zemo would have replied with a clever quip. He had never been one to back down from a fight. This time, though, he looked almost frightened as he raised his arms in defeat. “I got in contact with friends on the outside during our short adventure together. They decided to help me out once I was re-incarcerated, willingly I might add. I had no part in the plan, but who would look a gift horse in the mouth?”

“And I guess I’m just supposed to assume you had no part in getting my pardon revoked?” Bucky spat.

“If you hadn’t noticed, James, I’ve left you alone,” A hint of his usual mockery slipped into Helmut’s tone, but he quickly pulled it back, “Believe what you want about me, but I’ve had some time since last year to… re-evaluate my feelings on the world. You had no choice but to do the things you did as the Winter Soldier, and as long as you pose no threat to society now I have no qualms with you,”

Despite the strangeness of Zemo’s response Bucky remained unphased. Sam, on the other hand, was less stoic.

“Man, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but the government is looking for Bucky and I harder than they’re looking for you, and it’s kind of all your fault, so excuse me for not giving a shit about your supposed sudden change of heart!”

“Can we get to the point? I’m afraid my flight leaves in an hour and I would hate to be late,”

“Cut the bullshit!” There Bucky went, pushing the cold metal closer to Zemo’s furrowed forehead.

“Bucky...” Sam warned.

“No, Sam, I can do this. Did you or did you not actively attempt to get my pardon revoked when you took us to Madripoor? Because thanks to you, a worse symbol than Sam is now standing unchecked with the title of Captain America AND he has access to the last of the new super soldier serum AND he’s trying to get us killed so we can’t tell the world about the awful shit he does,”

“I-” Zemo went to speak and, for the first time since he had met him, Sam believed he was being genuine. There was a tremble that made its way through him, all the way to his raised hands and even his voice. It was enough that Bucky even lowered the gun minutely. “I understood that by following my lead, the both of you were risking a lot. I didn’t intend any specific malice with my actions though, no. If I may… the two of you have attracted a lot of attention here in the past few days. I assume Walker is very close to finding you?”

Sam and Bucky shared a look before Sam responded. “Maybe, why?”

“I have a safe house,” he continued, “I don’t stay there often so the location isn’t compromised, but it’s my next stop. Might I suggest we take this conversation on the road? I would hate to host your reunion with Mr. Walker in an alley over my corpse,”

There was a moment of complete stillness. Zemo remained, face dark with that strange deer-in-headlights look, a perfect statue, as the barrel of Bucky’s gun remained pointed firmly in his direction and Sam shared what seemed to be a completely silent conversation with Bucky. It was true that they had been burned before. Zemo was a man with his own agenda who did what it took to fulfill it. That being said, he had returned willingly with them back to prison before he was broken out, and without his help, the band of freshly minted super soldiers would still be running around Europe causing chaos. In the end, Bucky lowered his gun slowly before tucking it away into his boot holster.

Zemo grinned.

“Don’t think this means we trust you,” Sam groaned, pointing a finger at the man.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Now, gentlemen, I believe we have a plane to catch,”

As the trio began to make their way out of the alley Bucky and Sam fell to the flank of the group. “Do you really think this is a good idea?” Bucky asked, eyes darting between his two companions. Sam shrugged.

“At this point, I’m doing whatever it takes to get home to my family in one piece. If that means I have to ride in Zemo’s stupid private jet again and lay low for a while, then that’s what I’m gonna do, because Sarah and those kids don’t deserve to lose me all over again,”

“But don’t you think he’s acting a little… weird?”

“Don’t worry, I have my eye on him. If he tries anything we can just throw him out front when Walker tries to shoot us,”

“You’re doing a very poor job of concealing your conversation,” Zemo shouted.

Bucky stormed ahead as Sam laughed.

“Oh, shut up!”

Surprisingly, the drive to the airstrip was mostly uneventful, as was the relatively short flight from Zurich to Avignon. There was, of course, the usual cutthroat banter and tension so thick you could feel it like a fog hanging over the group, but in an unusual twist of fate, the baron did very little to initiate. Of course, he wasn’t fully innocent though. He never was. That being said, even as his chauffeur carefully navigated the stone roads to the dropoff point he was strangely quiet. He had texted someone earlier to have the house prepared for their arrival but he kept looking down at the phone as if a response would come. It didn’t.

Sam appreciated the break from the noise. To him, it was a moment of peace after a few months of constant opposition. For the duration of the trip, he had chosen to shoot a few choice quips Bucky’s way before taking a long nap. Bucky, on the other hand, was only growing more suspicious of Zemo by the minute.

After his time with Hydra, Bucky had become intimately acquainted with the type of man that Zemo was. He was ruthless, driven by ideals that couldn’t be changed by any amount of debate or theory read inside a prison cell, and willing to do whatever it took to fulfill those ideals no matter the cost. There was remorse but no regret. A man like that doesn’t just stop believing in the thing that led him to kill dozens if not hundreds of people, because once the impetus is gone so is the only thing upholding their sense of self.

In basic terms, he was hiding something. Bucky was intent on finding out what that thing was, a thing important enough to make Zemo of all people shut the hell up and tell his enemies exactly where his safe house was, and he wasn’t going to rest until he did. The answer came easily enough in the end, but not before Sam and Bucky were forced face to face with the strangest thing they had ever seen, even when including aliens and wizards. That thing was Zemo buying flowers.

The trio had gotten out of the car somewhere around the center of the city and continued towards the safe house on foot. A few minutes after they started, though, Zemo had spoken.

“I apologize, but I’ll have to stop for a moment,” He said, holding up a hand to alert the two men trailing him to the fact that he was about to stop. Sam quirked up an eyebrow.

“At a flower shop?”

There, to the right of them, was a small fleuriste. The window was a burst of bright color. Pinks, reds, whites, purples; a certain bunch of spring blooms had caught Zemo’s eye. He shrugged. “It’s rude to arrive at someone’s house asking for a favor without a gift, Mr. Wilson. Excuse me,”

With a comfort that said he had been into the shop many times, Zemo walked through the door and began conversing with the shop owner in perfect French, even referring to her as tu instead of vous as he made his purchase.

“Did he just say someone’s house ?” Sam asked Bucky, eyes widening.

Bucky gritted his teeth. “Yeah, I think he did,”

“So, we’re just showing up at someone’s door,”

“Yup. Not to mention they’re someone who aligns themself with him,”

A groan escaped from Sam as he ran his hand down his face in disbelief. “I didn’t expect much from Zemo, but damn,”

“It’s your fault for expecting anything from Zemo in the first place,”

“For once, you’re right,”

They dawdled for a moment. As their conversation stilled, Zemo returned, now burdened by a sizable bouquet from the window. Around them, the city was starting to get off of work. Families walked together as businesses had their 5 o’clock shift change. Somehow as the world around them came to life it didn’t look at Sam and Bucky with anything more than a passing glance. They were tourists, nothing more. For a moment Sam understood why Zemo would go to a place like this for safety and anonymity.

Without ceremony, the trio began walking towards their destination once again.

“I apologize for the delay,” Zemo said, keeping his pace brisk and remaining about a foot ahead of his companions, “I suppose it’s become a bit of a habit that I buy Y/N flowers whenever I come back. We shouldn’t be long now, though, the house is just a few more blocks away, maybe 3 minutes by foot,”

“Y/N?” Bucky asked. The name felt heavy on his tongue, familiar. That had to be a coincidence though. Zemo would never align himself with anyone who had worked for Hydra, and there was no other place he could have heard that name and had it hold any significance. Right?

Zemo chuckled. “Y/N is our host. I’d appreciate it if you tried to maintain some semblance of respect when we arrive, she tends to have quite the temper and it would reflect badly on me if she believed I was asking her to indefinitely house two people who would happily send her to prison,”

“About that,” Sam chimed in, “Who the hell are we about to be staying with? It’s not that I don’t trust you, but I don’t, and by extension, I also don’t tend to trust people who trust you,”

“I assure you, Sam, Y/N is more trustworthy to you than I will ever be,”

“That doesn’t answer my question, nor does it make me feel any better,”

“She’s American, and like you, she is seeking shelter from the government. Isn’t that enough for you?”

“Man, at this point I feel like you’re not telling us because she’s actually some sort of crazy Sokovian sleeper agent who’s gonna stab us in the back while we sleep. Am I crazy, Buck, or am I right?”

Bucky, who had been trying his best to stay out of the conversation, replied. “You are being unnecessarily evasive, Zemo, though that’s nothing new…”

“Right? Like, I’m really grateful that you’re lending us a hand, but I’ve gotta be honest, if I think for a second things are going south-”

Sam never got to finish his sentence.

Suddenly, Zemo stopped short, turning around and looking Bucky in the eye with a madness neither he nor Sam had ever seen before. His whole body was stiff, rigid. The hand that wasn’t cradling the flowers delicately was gripped in a fist at his side. He looked angry, but underneath the anger, he really just looked scared. “You will not touch her. Do you hear me? Do what you’d like with me, I have made choices worthy of punishment, but you will not touch Y/N. If you so much as think of it, all bets are off. Do you understand me?”

Bucky nodded, sharp. This was certainly interesting. Sam just smirked.

“Is there something else you want to tell us?”

Zemo walked up a small set of stairs towards a home to their right. “No, Mr. Wilson, I don’t believe so,”

The building was a nice one, all tan stone with dark wrought-iron fixtures on its many windows. It looked, for all intents and purposes, like a normal midtown manor-house for some upper-class member of the community. The normalcy of it all hid its true purpose in plain sight. It was genius, really. Over a dividing wall made of the same yellowing stone, Sam could see a small sliver of vibrant green garden space and a pool at the side of the building.

With a steadying breath, Zemo knocked on the door.

“You have to knock on the door of your own safe house?” There was a hint of incredulity in Bucky’s voice as he crossed his arms. This was going to be a disaster. Why had they agreed to this again?

“A little etiquette goes a long way, James, especially when you’re already in the doghouse,” Then, the door opened.

Bucky froze. There, standing in the doorway with a pistol in her hand and a fire in her eyes, was a woman he thought long dead: you. This couldn’t be right! He had killed you back in ‘02 with the rest of the AAHR...

You quirked up an eyebrow at Zemo.

“Give me one reason I should let you in and not shoot you on the spot,”

They were so fucked.

________________

The day, on your end of the world, had gone by much slower.

It started off like any other, with the alarm on your bedside table blaring as you opened your eyes and your arms reached out into the emptiness in the sheets beside you. Sometimes, when Helmut’s flight got in late enough, you would wake up and reach to the side only to find that he had appeared beside you in the night. Those were the best kind of reunions. They were free of pretense, no bitterness or resentment clouded your sleep-heavy brain when you opened your eyes to his peaceful resting face, and you could simply fall into the comforting rhythm of husband and wife. If you reunited with a clear head things tended not to go as well.

You groaned. It wasn’t as if there was even a guarantee he would come back, especially not after the way you’d left things last time. The philosophy of attendre et espérer, waiting and hoping like an Edmond Dantés type, wouldn’t do you any good, at least not anymore.

Maybe it was time to start moving on…

Tomorrow. You could start thinking about the next steps tomorrow. For today you’d enjoy what you had.

Getting out of bed was difficult but you managed. The sun streamed through the curtains that billowed gently in the breeze near your balconette, brilliant gold beams illuminating the dust that danced in the air. The first thing you did was shuffle along to the corner and pour yourself two fingers of brandy from Helmut’s private collection. It was like a morning ritual these days, a numbing agent against the loneliness. Once the drink was downed you moved on to the closet to get dressed.

Dressing yourself wasn’t of much importance these days. You couldn’t exactly leave the house, and nobody was visiting, so more often than not, it was easier to just wear the same pajamas for a few days until you knew Oeznik would be around to drop off groceries. Today, though, you felt… filthy. Not dirty in a physical way, just sticky and filthy and unclean under your skin and in your very heart. Maybe a shower would help.

You looked around the closet with a clinical eye. It was difficult to be in there, surrounded by lavish dresses and expensive suits that you and your husband had worn arm in arm while plotting the downfall of the Avengers before your unsteady alliance had turned into so much more. Everything still smelled like his cologne. In the small, often-closed, walk-in closet, the scent had only intensified, covering every article of clothing with a fog of cedarwood and sage. It made you sick, choked the air from your lungs and left you gasping for even a single breath that didn’t sit heavy on your tongue with the bitter taste of that familiar musk.

The alcohol had helped. It always did. The remnants of its burn in your mouth formed a sort of guard against the scent of the closet as you searched through a pile of shirts for something soft and easy to wear. Your hands suddenly stilled.

“Zemo, I’m gonna be honest, this is the ugliest sweater I’ve ever seen in my entire life,”

“I’m hurt! That’s one of my favorites,”

“Where did you even get it, a 90-year-old grandpa’s closet? Jesus Christ, it looks like something out of a shitty 70’s flick about family values,”

“I’ll have you know that I thrifted that sweater. It’s very eco-conscious you know,”

Your heart hurt. Well, no, your whole body hurt, but your heart ached a little more prominently as you carefully picked up the sweater and held it to your chest. It was terribly ugly, 4 sizes too big even on Helmut and covered in an olive and forest green argyle. Somehow he was always able to pull off the oversized thing no matter how ridiculous you had always insisted you found it. When was the last time he’d worn it again?

The memory evaded you.

Still, it was a happy relic, happier than most of the monuments to a failing marriage that lined the shelves of your beautiful personal prison. It wouldn’t hurt to hope that by wearing it, you might rub just a little bit of that lost happiness off onto your present-day, right? With one last forlorn glance around the closet, you gathered up the sweater and a pair of jeans before getting out as fast as you could. With the scent of cologne clinging to you, the shower wasn’t just a good idea now, it was necessary.

So, you showered. You took the stupid foot-long exfoliating brush Helmut loved so much and scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed yourself under the near-boiling stream of water until your skin was pink and raw. Disappointingly, even the new skin felt filthy. It was better, though, less intense. With some lotion and a little bit of Neosporin on the fresh patches of blotchy red, you were able to feel okay. Not good. Not clean. Just… okay. At least you didn’t smell like him anymore. The clock read 12:14 when you finally made it out of the bathroom in search of some real food.

Lunch, if you could call it that, was a silent affair. The fridge was almost empty and the pantry was only a little less bare, so you threw together a cheese sandwich, not even bothering to waste butter and grill it. You ate it plain with another glass of brandy out on the pool deck. It was gone sooner than you hoped it would be.

Oh well.

You finished your brandy with a sigh. Only seven or eight more hours until you could finish your day with a few more drinks and pass out in bed until nine or ten once again. Ah, dreamless sleep. That sounded divine. Now if only you could fathom any non-depressing way to spend the time between sleeping and waking. Swimming was out, the chemicals would burn your freshly eviscerated skin. Playing solitaire for the fourth day in a row sounded like absolute hell on earth. Even watercolors, a usual calming respite from the torturous and neverending monotony of life trapped alone in a house you had no help in stocking, were off the table ever since you’d run out of paper.

Somewhere inside the house, your phone dinged.

The second the sound hit your ears you jumped, dropping your glass and letting it shatter into a thousand tiny shards on the stone of the patio.

Phones were a difficult thing to own for someone who was trying to stay out of the eyes of the government. They were too easy to track and could tip off enemies to your location with very little error needed on your part. Even searching the internet for innocent things was too risky. If your search history was too similar to that of the alias you had used before Helmut went to prison, it would have been easy for them to find a connection and send someone to track you down. Still, you kept a cell phone charged and ready on the kitchen counter despite the risk for one reason and one reason only: Emergency contact with your husband.

He never texted from the same number on more than one occasion, always switching from burner phone to burner phone as he flew across the country doing god knows what, but if he was ever in a situation where emergency contact with you was needed, he was able to reach you at your number immediately. It had only happened a couple of times, and each time he had been in a considerable amount of danger. So, when you suddenly heard the sound you dreaded more than anything else in the world, you were quick to rush inside, even ignoring the shattered glass at your feet as you shoved through the doors and found the phone.

The small, LED display was lit up with the notification. It made your heart both soar and sink.

Flying home with two guests. Prepare the two rooms for their stay. We will be there by 5 at the latest - B

You read over the message several times before letting the phone fall from your hand and back onto the counter with a dull thud.

That absolute asshole.

Three months. Three months you had spent sitting alone. Three months without a call, or a text, or a letter, or even a word of when he was coming back by way of Oeznik. Three months! And after three months of loneliness and sleepless nights and empty bottles on the drink cart he reaches out through an emergency line of contact that almost certainly means he might be dying only to tell you he’s bringing two strangers into your safe house, the place even he refuses to stay in too long in order to not give its location away. The scar on your spine was starting to burn as you leaned up against the counter and cried.

It was ridiculous to think you had ever believed him capable of more tact than that.

Really, it was your fault. From the beginning, you’d had too much faith in a man incapable of being trustworthy, even to those closest to him. You knew that, and yet you had married him. Maybe the soft touches and sweet lies he had spoon-fed you had made you weak. Maybe you always had been.

“I’m not a child, Helmut, I know what I’m doing!”

“I don’t think you do,” he shouted. He was a few drinks in now, you both were. The nights before his departures never tended to end well when you both drank. “Because no matter what I do to protect you, you have the need to disobey me! Have you considered that I do the things I do for your own good!”

“Oh! Oh yes, the things YOU do!” You slammed your glass down on the table as you stormed over to Helmut, “I sit here all day like a fucking dog in a cage while you fly to fucking Ibiza and flirt with supermodels, but YOUR story is just so fucking tragic! I’m your wife, Helmut! I’m not an animal or your property, I’m your goddamn wife! You can’t just order me to sit and stay like a dog,”

He glared down at you, eyes hawkish and glinting in the low lamplight. For the first time in years, he looked threatening, “You may not be a dog, or a child, or my property, but you are a weapon! It’s my job to keep you here, away from the-”

“Excuse me?” You interrupted. The two of you stood, inches away and yet miles apart. Slowly, the drive in Helmut’s eyes faltered. “Say that again. I dare you,”

“Schatz, I-”

“No, Helmut, you meant it so say it again. Call me that again. I fucking dare you,” Tears were streaming down your face now. He took a step towards you, hand extended to wipe them away, but you were quick to take a step back out of his reach.

“You misunderstood me,”

“I don’t think there was anything to misunderstand,”

You swept the shards of your glass tumbler into a dustpan, hands still shaking even ten minutes after you’d read Helmut’s message to you. As you worked, your last conversation before he’d left echoed in your mind.

How had it all devolved into that? It wasn’t hard to remember Helmut before prison, jaded and broken and lonely. He had been so much like you and yet so different. Each of you seemed to be the perfect balm for the others' wounds. In the end, despite all of his flaws, you had found yourself in love. Now that he was a different man, was that love gone? You couldn’t say. All you knew for sure was that you weren’t nearly drunk enough to be facing the confusing feelings in your brain. With the last of your energy, you emptied the dustpan of glass into the trash can and returned to the house, sweater itchy against your irritated skin, to ready the guest rooms.

The job wasn’t a long one. You had never used the guest rooms in all the time you’d spent at the Avignon property, so the sheets were already clean. There was just a thin layer of dust on the furniture that needed to be swept away as you checked to make sure the dressers were bare and the bathrooms were stocked with amenities. Then, when that was done, you were left to your thoughts as the hours ticked by.

Most of the time you spent sitting on the couch doing absolutely nothing. It sounded terrible, and in all honesty it was, but what else could you do? The house was already spotless so cleaning wasn’t an option, and you didn’t quite feel like doing much of anything as you stared at the clock and tried to remember a time when your life was less of a disaster. As it got closer to five, though, you started to get antsy.

You had tried your best to not think about the obvious issue of the guests. Zemo was not the type to threaten his home, even if he wasn’t happy with you, so usually having anyone who wasn’t Oeznik or another paid lackey aware of the location of your safe house would be a big no in his book, but then you started thinking of the implications of him bringing people into your home. Your home, not his. Was he on his way to kill you? It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. Or maybe he was bringing your replacement.

Now that thought made anger bubble up in your throat. You were no stranger to the idea that when your husband was away, he could be doing anything. There was no guarantee when he slept in lavish hotels or drank the night away in elite lounges that he kept his wedding ring on. The fact that there were two guests meant it was unlikely he was bringing two mistresses, but never impossible. Nothing was impossible when it came to Helmut.

No, it was more likely he had finally decided it was time to end your suffering. The shouts and boisterous laughter that started to sound directly outside of the front room window only confirmed the for you. Slowly, you crept towards the door and grabbed a small pistol from its place in the umbrella stand. If he wanted you dead you weren’t going to go without a fight.

Through the curtains on the front door, you could just barely make out the trio. When you saw them your blood ran cold. It was one thing if he needed help to take you down, but getting the Winter Soldier on board? Your rage only grew by the minute.

Helmut said something, probably planning the best course of action to catch you off guard, and you sneered. Two could play at that game. When he knocked on the door you opened it calmly and held the gun with your finger just barely ghosting over the trigger.

Everyone froze.

“Give me one reason I should let you in and not shoot you on the spot,” you said, rage coursing through every nerve in your body. You may have been in retirement for quite a few years, but you still knew how to handle a gun. Everyone there, except maybe the Falcon, knew that. As Zemo went to open his mouth, you prepared for a firefight.

“Because I brought you flowers,”

-------------

a/n: Sorry that only one chapter is out! The fic is just getting very long and complicated and I wanted to make sure you got as much as possible before the next episode drops lol. I’ll be working pretty much nonstop from now until then, though, so the next parts should be out soon!

TAGLIST: @tatestripedsweater , @elaineygrace, @multiyfandomgirl40 , @lovelymischief , @rami-malek-trash , @dazzlingseb, @avgravy , @sarahsilver , @wh0re-4-techno , @forcebros , @sugarsweetkiss , @grandmuffinsharkbailiff , @killsandthrills , @novasstudy , @thnksfr-ptrkstmp , @inmate-marmalade, @alanathedeer , @mossybank , @simsiddy , @xxspqcebunsxx

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that-was-anticlimactic · 3 years

Text

reki with tourette’s headcanons

[ID: it’s reki from sk8 the infinity wearing a yellow sweatshirt with his hands on his hips. he’s wearing a red bracelet on his right wrist and he’s smiling. behind him is a touette’s syndrome awareness flag. end ID.]

so. @zukkaclawthorne got me hooked on reki with ts and now imma post headcanons i wrote oops

okay so first—that little skateboard he plays with??? stim toy, actually.

he likes the sound the wheels make—that whirrrrrr sound. it makes his arms flappy :)

he also finds the rolling motion soothing and relaxing and it always calms him down—it takes his mind to a happy place

he rocks back and forth and shakes his legs a lot. that also contributed to why he was terrible at skateboarding the first few times he tried—because his body would be like “time to rock back and forth!” and it would mess him up

neck twitches for days :)

no but for real—neck twitching is one of his worst tics because sometimes—if he’s in a bad mood or if he’s sad or anxious—it gets harsh and violent and really strains his neck.

so, langa gives him neck / upper back neck massages to help with the pain

he went through this phase for a couple of months where whenever his neck would twitch, he would snap his fingers two times.

he has a lot of hand tics which can be stressful when he makes skateboards because sometimes he’ll be in the groove and then suddenly he’ll mess something up

speaking of messing things up, he has a tendency to dig the bottom of his palm into his forehead whenever he feels like he does something stupid—he doesn’t even realize it until someone points it out.

he feels like even more of a failure of a skater because of his tics because they can hold him back and make the course more dangerous.

if his blinking tic resurfaces, sometimes the blinking gets so intense that he literally cannot see for anywhere between five seconds and a minute depending on how bad it is. that is how he got some of his worst scars.

or sometimes he’ll make a really aggressive hand motion and it throws him off balance on the skateboard due to the intensity

anyways back to hand tics: he points a lot and does symbols like the “rock on” sign or certain numbers (for some reason, the most common number for reki to throw up is four—though sometimes he throws up whatever number he hears) he also grunts a lot as a tic so he sounds angry even when he is’t.

sometimes, his hand tics really hurt and his hands become shaky and his fingers start to feel the way his heart feels when he’s anxious. langa helps in different ways—he holds reki’s hand, he gives him something to fidget with to try to distract him (sometimes it’s his own fingers—he’ll just set them in reki’s palm and be like “let me carry some of the pain”—no, reki didn’t totally cry when he said that what)

sometimes, reki sticks pencils in his ears. his teachers have been trying to stop it since he was young, but he always did it anyways—he couldn’t help it.

his hair is also long enough for him to chew on. yes, he chews on the tips of his hair because i say so. sometimes, to stop him from doing that (and from swallowing his own hair), langa will try to make him laugh so it falls out of his mouth and then he’ll scoot close and tuck the hair behind reki’s ears… once they start dating, he kisses him too. but also that’s one reason why he wears the headband—to try to keep his hair out of his face so he doesn’t chew on it.

reki’s favorite form of stimming (other than his skateboard toy, that is) is stress balls. he’s got a couple of stress balls in his room or backpack—even one with string attached so he can carry it around his wrist. he just really likes the texture of them.

after his second race against adam, cherry and joe were so proud of him and also impressed and worried dads that they bought reki a big stress ball, like, the size of a stuffed animal. it was a blue cat. he uses it all the time.

speaking of fricking adam, we all know he would so use reki’s tics against him during a race. like, when he grabbed his wrist and “danced” with him, he would mock reki’s tics or say creepy things about how his verbal tics are music and his motor tics are him dancing along and it makes him so uncomfortable and like even more shaken

oh and adam purposely does things to trigger his tics, like when i mentioned that number tic??? yeah, adam will purposefully say numbers to make reki do the hand gestures

one time, reki wanted to tell langa that he loved him but got nervous so he signed it in sign language instead. but, since reki’s tics are occasionally hand gestures, langa thought that it was just a tic and mentally was like “i wish that was for me…” and reki is like “i wish he knew it was real…” and joe, cherry, shadow, and miya are all facepalming and groaning at their obliviousness

reki prefers taking hand written notes to electronic notes because he draws / doodles to stim and he can’t really doodle well on a laptop. so, he’ll doodle in class all of the time

sometimes, his pictures / notes turn out pretty bad / illegible depending on how bad his tics are, but that doesn’t phase reki. it used to when he was younger, but it doesn’t bother him at all anymore. in fact, he thinks it adds personality

during class, he’ll draw pictures for langa and slid them on his desk. they’re usually really random things like the teacher or the back of someone’s head or squiggly lines or whatever he sees outside. more often than not, it’s abstract art. langa loves these drawings and he keeps them all on his desk in his room.

reki also started drawing pictures for the rest of the sk8 crew and gives it to them during races. when he gave everyone their first doodle, he was like “i’m not the best artist ever and sometimes my tics mess up the doodle, but i thought of you while i drew it so i want you to have it”

(shadow didn’t shed a couple of unwilling dad tears when he got home that night what)

anyways, they all keep them. every single one. miya puts them in their school binder so they don’t feel as alone / isolated at school.

although shadow and miya give reki a lot of crap / teasing about not being as good as everyone else, the second they hear anyone comment about “the weird red head that makes noises” and comments on his ts in a negative way, oh, they will stop you.

sometimes, reki whispers words he hears under his breath as a tic (echolalia, baby~) and when he overhears people saying stuff about “that redhead that always follows snow around” or about him not being good enough or how he’s an idiot to face adam, he ends up muttering that too. and it’s not a one and done kind of thing—like. he does it for days. it makes him so upset (and i already hc him, with depression so it just makes it worse)

having tics while having injuries is not a good combination—especially if it’s with a broken arm. the crew made sure to keep an eye of reki’s comfort / pain level after adam broke his arm and literally tried to kill him in their final race. joe let reki squeeze his hand whenever he felt the urge to tic and cherry would ask him how much pain he was in after he ticced and depending on how bad it would be, would make joe or shadow fetch a heating pad or an icepack for reki.

joe also taught reki about the magical thing called physical therapy tape and helped him put it on his shoulders, neck, and back one time. it was his idea to use the tape on reki’s fingers when he was injured to make him feel better (because it literally makes my fingers feel better)

also langa kisses each of reki’s fingers and knuckles, slowly and tenderly, soft so he doesn’t hurt him or trigger a tic. a way of showing that he loves him not despite his tics, but even with his tics and that he loves him and his tics.

cherry isn’t always the best at showing he cares, so he’ll wear a ts ribbon sometimes in a way to show support (and it makes reki beam)

shadow once gave reki a flower shaped stress ball because there were “extra at work” (not true—he went looking for one)

miya didn’t really know much about ts at first and asked why reki made those noises and made weird movements all the time and langa explained so then that night when miya got home, they did research on ts so they could understand it better. later, they told reki that whenever they called him a slime, they meant it purely about skateboarding and it had nothing to do with his tics—even that his tics didn’t make him less of a skater

all his life, reki had been the different one: the one no one wanted on the team because sometimes his tics messed him up, the one who was asked to leave classes during tests because his tics were too distracting and made him take the test in the hall, when sometimes he’d get too overwhelmed by how close people were in the halls or at races and would have panic attacks, how he rocked in his chair and adjusted his position seventeen times an hour and sat on his feet while the other kids didn’t, how he shook his legs more aggressively than others, how he couldn’t skate as well as everyone else because of his tics and because he wasn’t good enough

which is probably part of the depression that weighs on his shoulders

the first time reki had a panic attack during a race due to closeness and overstimulating noises (and this is the first one after the sk8 crew happened) langa was racing and wasn’t there to help, so shadow kind of panicked and like picked him up under the armpits and carried him away from the crowd since reki could barely process anything other than panic and the sound and feeling of static and they sat in shadow’s car for the rest of the race and once he felt better, he gave shadow a huge hug and shadow returned it.

one time it happened and cherry was nearby and he saw the signs before it got bad (remembered from the previous time / his own experiences) and helped talk reki down before it got bad (he has a soothing voice)

usually, though, when / if it happens (because reki usually feels safe there), langa is the one who helps

but it got so much worse after skating against adam the first time because he no longer felt safe and suddenly everyone cheering adam’s name even after witnessing what he did to reki was too much but langa was racing adam so langa wasn’t there and this time it was joe who kneeled in front of him and started talking just loud enough for reki to hear and he was like “you’re safe—we won’t let anyone hurt you. we won’t let him hurt langa. you’re safe. i’m here and so is cherry and shadow and miya and langa will be waiting for you at the end of the race…”

it happens again at the next race he goes to—and this time it’s miya who notices and they tug on langa’s sleeve and is like “i think you need to take reki somewhere else” and langa does :)

okay i’ll end on a positive ts note or two—langa asks reki to add the ts ribbon to the design on his skateboard

shadow finds chewelry at the store one day when he’s shopping and buys it for reki (and gets a matching one for langa!)

once reki came back after his mental health break, the first thing joe said to him was, and this is nonnegotiable “reki! i missed you and your tics!”

miya once overheard reki muttering to himself about his annoying tics were, so they intervened and was like “your tics aren’t annoying. they’re you and anyone who think s they’re annoying is an idiot”

and for the first time in his life, reki doesn’t feel alone and isolated and so different from everyone (at least, he’s working on that last one) and he’s finally found a group of people who want him on their team and a boyfriend who always supports him and makes him feel less isolated, tics and all <3

i uhh I have a lot of feelings,,,

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